


Wish

by avoidingavoidance



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 5e btw, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Multi, many many things being lit on fire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2020-11-24 16:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20910455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidingavoidance/pseuds/avoidingavoidance
Summary: A pair of cursed outcasts come across a mostly-dead elf in the woods and are directed to take him home with them.It only gets weirder from there.





	1. Spare the Dying

It’s been raining for months.

Not that normal fall-weather off and on, either. It’s been constant. Ranging between a mild drizzle and a torrential downpour, the rain has brought nothing but calamity with it, drowning crops and flooding roads, threatening to wash away all but the rock upon which the world was built.

Even in these trying times, though, shelter can be hard to come by for the wrong sort of folk.

Marco is used to being instantly recognized for what he is; it’s rather difficult to hide. Even other tieflings look twice when they pass him, because while their horns come in many shapes and sizes, pitch black antlers are unusual no matter what circles one runs in. 

Besides, here in Faerûn, everyone knows what those antlers mean, and no one wants to mess with that.

So, Marco is used to people forming complete opinions of him before he’s even opened his mouth, and he’s used to the fear and avoidance people display around him.

What he’s not used to is... whatever the hell this is.

The rain is coming down hard tonight, so the sight of a tavern along the sodden road just outside of town is nothing if not welcome. Marco hurries to the door, urged on by the shifting shadows whispering behind him, and moves inside.

As usual, everyone in the tavern recognizes what he is immediately. That’s normal.

Before the door has even closed behind him, all those people are rushing toward him, tripping over themselves and each other to shove offerings of wine and brandy and copper into his hands, which is decidedly _not_ normal.

“Um,” he manages, but the sound is lost to the din surrounding him. 

“Please, _please,_” an old farmer bleats, reaching past two soaked guards to grip Marco’s wrist. “Your lady must have mercy on us, we’ve done no wrong, honest!”

“Our fields are unusable,” another says, her hands wrapped anxiously around a skin of wine, which she may or may not have been drinking out of when Marco came in. “We can’t grow nothin’, our animals are drowning in their pens—”

“We’ll starve if this keeps up!” one of the young guards yells, his eyes wide with growing panic. 

Marco takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, gathering his patience, before finally shouting, “A moment, please!”

The crowd falls silent, although none of them look terribly pleased about it, still fidgeting nervously and trying to hand him offerings, or slip them into his cloak pockets. 

With a sigh, Marco looks around at them, then takes a step back, his back pressing against the door. “I—I think you may have me confused for someone else,” he starts. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No one travels these roads lately,” someone says. “Not even those adventurin’ types. The storm’s keepin’ them all away. You’re the first visitor we’ve had in weeks.”

“We’ve been waitin’ long enough,” the old farmer spits. “Your lady likes to play with her food.”

While that is entirely true, Marco swallows down his resentment for now. “You believe that my lady is causing the rains?”

“She must be!”

Marco raises his eyebrow at the innkeeper, who had joined in on the ruckus. “I don’t think—”

“Her signs are clear,” the innkeeper continues haughtily, “We’ve all seen the fires.”

Annoyance starts to boil in Marco’s stomach, so he takes another deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “My lady is powerful, yes,” he sighs, “But even she can’t command storms.” Listening, always listening, she makes her displeasure known to him, but he pushes that aside too. “And how could there be fires in this downpour?”

The crowd murmurs to each other, but the wine skin lady stands firm. “That’s how we know it’s _her._ Not even fire could survive this, but these ones do. They’re bright purple, magic purple! They rage through the trees and vanish without a trace!”

“And now you’re here!” someone says, leaning uncomfortably close to Marco. “Her infernal priest, come to collect tithe—”

“Wow, okay,” Marco interrupts loudly, that irritation burning ever hotter. “Listen, my lady very much appreciates your desire to win her favor, but she hasn’t brought this storm upon you. The fires, maybe, but I’d have to see them for myself.”

“So...” Marco glances over at the elderly farmer. “You can’t help us?”

Marco feels himself wilt a little bit. “Not with the rains, no,” he says. “I’m very sorry.”

And really, he is. 

He’s been through more than a few towns and kingdoms recently, and the suffering the rains have brought the people haunts him. So many have died already, and so much has been lost to the floods. Very occasionally, someone will understandably blame him for their misfortunes, but this is the first time he’s encountered anyone, let alone an entire crowd, specifically begging him and his patron for mercy. 

The people disperse then, dejectedly going back to their tables, and not for the first time, Marco feels the heavy weight of hopelessness settling in his chest. 

He sighs, then moves to the bar and requests a room, and fortunately, the innkeeper doesn’t deny him.

Once he’s let himself into his room and locked the door, Marco falls into his familiar routine. Not bothering to light the lamps, he strides over to the windows and swings them open. He winces at the sudden, wet chill from the ceaseless rain, then steps back and snaps his fingers. A bright spark jumps from his fingertips, followed by a sudden flash of purple fire, but he remembers then the unnatural fires these people had mentioned and quickly wraps his hands around it, effectively smothering it. No need to feed into the superstitions of the beleaguered townsfolk. 

The signal had been brief, but it was enough; barely a moment passes before Marco’s sharp ears hear the sound of boots colliding with the wall under his window, vaulting someone’s slight weight up the side of the building. Gloved hands wrap around the sill, and without much effort, Marco’s hooded companion hauls himself through the window.

“Something out there really wants us to drown,” the drenched human grumbles as he swings his legs over the sill. “How far d’you think we’d need to go to get out of this?”

Marco hums, unfastening his cloak. “For all we know, this storm could cover the far reaches of every land. It seems endless.”

The man grunts, then turns to close the windows and curtains while Marco sets his bags down. “Took you longer than usual to get a room. They give you trouble?”

Shaking his head, Marco runs a hand through his hair and sits on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. “Quite the opposite. They seemed like they were expecting me.” Before his companion can start wondering the worst, Marco continues, “Just a really bizarre coincidence. They thought my patron was behind the storm and wanted to gain her favor.”

The man pauses at that. He reaches up to pull his hood down, his dark hair ruffled, unnaturally bright green eyes narrowed in confusion. “They thought _Lady Doom_ could make it rain like this?”

“Eren,” Marco huffs, “Don’t call her that, she likes it.” His antlers tingle slightly, reminding him that she’s always listening, but he just shakes her off. 

“That’s really weird,” Eren mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Aren’t there, like, four different storm deities? Why would they come to the local deity of misfortune as their logical conclusion?”

Marco shrugs, then flops back against the bed. “There have been magical fires, apparently. Purple ones. At this point, they’re probably just desperate for answers.”

“I mean, I guess. Still weird.” Eren turns to the dresser and starts removing his soaked outerwear, hanging his coats off of whatever he can find that will hold their weight. “You think those fires are anything fun?”

“Doubtful.” Marco sighs and crosses his arms over his eyes, then murmurs, “Lot of people have died, they could just be ghostlights.”

Eren goes quiet, turning to look at his companion. He moves to climb onto the bed next to him, mindful of his muddy boots, and leans over him. “Is that what’s bothering you?” Marco moves his arms and blinks up at Eren in question. “Your ears are all droopy,” he clarifies softly, dragging the rough pad of his thumb along the edge of Marco’s pointed ear. 

Marco huffs, his ear twitching slightly against Eren’s fingers. He doesn’t have to answer that, though. Eren’s right, and he already knows it, so Marco doesn’t feel the need to go into detail about it. 

“It was so strange,” he murmurs instead, lazily reaching over to rest his fingers on Eren’s wrist. “They seemed almost... happy to see me. As happy as they could be in this situation, anyway.”

“Wow.” Eren shifts his hand down to run his knuckles along the turn of Marco’s jaw. “You think they’re desperate enough to let me walk in the front door?”

Marco laughs, his nose wrinkling slightly. “Not quite yet, I don’t think. Begging Beshaba for mercy is a few steps above begging for the help of a blood hunter on the desperation scale.”

Eren snorts at that, then sits up so he can untie his boots too. “That’s fair, I suppose. I’m basically the boogeyman.”

“Well, if they knew how soft you really are—”

“Hey, don’t go telling them,” Eren laughs. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“If you insist,” Marco chuckles. He bites his lip idly, watching as Eren stands and starts unbuckling his belts, then murmurs, “I need to ward the room still.”

“I mean, I can do it if you’re tired.”

“Yeah, okay,” Marco snorts, already pulling himself to his feet.

“What?” Eren spreads his hands innocently, but his mischievous grin gives him away entirely. “A few bloody sigils on the walls won’t alarm anyone, right?”

Marco rolls his eyes at that, a habit he picked up from Eren a long while ago. Given that his eyes are entirely black, it’s harder for him to get that sort of body language across, but he knows Eren picks up on it regardless. He gets to setting up his usual array of wards, thankfully devoid of blood or any other kinds of lingering marks, almost soothed by the sound of Eren’s lengthy disarming process.

As he’s preparing the last of the wards, holding a complicated little knot of sticks and ragged leather twine between his palms, he hears Eren move behind him and smiles. 

He whispers his brief incantation into the space between his palms, then hangs the ward from a hook on the back of the door, and as he does so, Eren’s hands slide languidly along his waist, coming to rest on his hips. He lets Eren turn him around, his smile widening as he looks down at his companion, lazily resting his arms over the man’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Eren murmurs, leaning up on his toes to nudge his nose against Marco’s.

Marco chuckles softly, happily letting Eren pull him close. “Hi.”

“All done?”

“Mhm.” 

Eren breathes a low hum, then tugs Marco into a slow, sweet kiss, sighing contently when Marco threads his fingers into his dark, messy hair, still slightly wet from lurking out in the rain. Marco leans into him, gently nibbling at his lower lip, and when Eren brushes the tip of his tongue along his lips, Marco happily lets him in. Eren kisses him deeply, soothingly, dragging his hands down Marco’s spine, but he stops them before they travel much lower than the small of his back.

“You’re soaked to the bone,” Eren breathes between kisses, plucking at the light fabric of Marco’s shirt, just slightly clinging to his skin.

He's not wrong, but rather than complain, Marco just grins and says, “Cold, too.”

Eren all but growls at that, wrapping his arms around Marco’s waist and leaning up for another kiss. “Should let me warm you up,” he rumbles against Marco’s lips, and no matter how many times they’ve done this, Eren’s low voice still sends pleasant little shivers down his spine.

He nods his agreement, grinning when Eren huffs against him, then makes quick work of pulling his loose shirt off for him, apparently eager to have his hands on him. 

While Eren’s attention is torn between kissing him and unfastening his pants, Marco guides them back over to the bed, pushing his companion down onto the rough sheets before helpfully tugging his pants the rest of the way off, leaving himself comfortably naked. He tosses the pants toward a chair, hoping they’ll dry overnight, then easily climbs into Eren’s lap, purring at the way his companion’s rough hands feel on his skin.

“God, I fucking love dark vision,” Eren mumbles, his gaze dragging all along Marco’s bare skin. Having heard that numerous times before, Marco just rolls his eyes, then leans in for more kisses, relishing the way Eren groans for him. 

Between kisses, Eren manages to yank his own shirt off, carelessly dropping it on the bed in favor of getting his hands back on Marco. “Seriously, Marco,” he manages after a moment, dragging his palms up Marco’s sides. “You’re so damn pretty, you know that?”

Marco bites his lip and smiles, brushing Eren’s bangs off his forehead. “You’ve mentioned it,” he murmurs.

“It’s _true,_ god.”

Marco can’t help but snicker at that, but he can feel himself blushing regardless. Not many people view his grey skin favorably, nor the hundreds of tiny black flecks splashed across it. Even so, it’s kind of hard to care about anything anyone has to say about it when he has Eren with him, so loudly appreciative of his every feature, even the ones he’s not so fond of himself.

Eren’s impatience seems to get the best of him then; he wraps his arms around Marco’s waist, then pulls him down onto the bed, rolling them over with a quick twist of his hips and a wide, crooked grin. Marco laughs, both at his enthusiasm and that handsome expression, but he makes himself comfortable under him, idly biting his lip as he drags a hand down Eren’s bare chest. His fingers trail along pale scars, through the dark hair trailing down his stomach, until he can flatten his palm against the obvious bulge in Eren’s pants. 

His companion makes a low, choked sound, but rather than lean into the feeling, he sits back on his knees and makes quick work of the fastenings of his pants, pulling the flaps out of the way. Marco hums, tugging his cock out for him, and the way Eren shivers when he gives him a few slow, firm strokes sends a thrill of satisfaction all through him.

“Does lurking in a tree in the rain do something for you?” Marco teases, unable to help himself. Eren grumbles at him, leaning over him again on his elbows, but Marco just laughs, which earns him another wide smile from his companion.

“It sure doesn’t.” Eren leans down and nudges his nose against Marco’s, slowly rocking his hips into his hand as he steals a brief, bitey kiss. “You, on the other hand, do a whole lot for me.”

“Mm, is it the twelve layers of cloaks?”

Eren rolls his eyes, but he’s still grinning. “No, but it’s been cold for so long that seeing you without a single cloak is enough to get me going.” Marco snorts at that, lazily slinging his knees over Eren’s hips and dragging him closer. “Seriously, I never appreciated how sexy you look in normal clothes before. You may have a fantastic ass, but the cloaks do you no favors, I’m sorry to say.”

“Are you saying you’ve forgotten what my ass looks like?”

“I could never!” Eren leans in and drags his tongue up the line of Marco’s pointed ear, at which Marco can’t help but shiver, his thighs tightening around Eren’s waist. “I’m saying I really, _really_ miss staring at it.”

“Truly unfortunate,” Marco murmurs, but before he can continue that line of thought, Eren’s reaching between them, his rough fingers wrapping around Marco’s cock and squeezing gently, and Marco kind of forgets what they were talking about to begin with. 

Eren hums, then drags his lips down to Marco’s pulse, pressing hot, wet kisses along dark skin as he strokes him. Marco bites his lip before shifting Eren’s hand away from himself so he can take them both in his hands, arching up against him with a soft, shivering sigh. Eren groans for him, rocking against him, and god, the slow, purposeful rhythm of Eren’s hips has Marco’s eyes fluttering shut, his breath catching in his chest.

“Eren,” he gasps, reaching up to tangle his fingers into Eren’s dark hair. “Eren, I want you...”

With a quiet moan, Eren nods against him, leaving one last lingering kiss against his pulse before he pulls back and reaches into the pocket of his pants. He pulls out a small vial of clear oil, easily mistaken for one of the many tools of his trade, but when Marco sees it, he just raises a teasing eyebrow at Eren, who flushes adorably. 

“Not a word,” he mumbles, focusing his attention on opening the vial and spilling some of the oil over his fingers. Marco could play with him more, but he elects not to, choosing instead to relax and spread his thighs for Eren. 

Eren looks up at him, his bright eyes dragging all along Marco’s body, before putting the vial aside, then leaning over him for more kisses. Marco tangles his fingers in Eren’s hair again, licking between his lips and earning himself a sweet, rough moan, but when Eren reaches between them and slips his slick fingers against him, Marco’s lips part around a soft gasp. 

As he’s working a finger into him, Eren whispers to him, telling him how good he feels, how perfect he looks, and between those lips brushing against his sensitive ear and the finger curling deep inside him, Marco can’t help but arch into Eren, his spine curving away from the sheets slightly. Eren hums for him, holding him closer, his own arousal hot and heavy against Marco’s thigh, already dripping slick precome. 

Despite his obvious desire, Eren still takes his time, eagerly watching Marco squirm and gasp for him as he works him open on a second finger, and Marco can’t even find the focus to complain when Eren’s fingers wring such perfect, pleasurable sparks out of him with every move.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long; Eren buries his fingers deep with a low groan, then carefully pulls them out, smearing the remaining oil over his soaked cock as he kneels between Marco’s thighs. Marco bites his lip and shifts toward him, eagerly dragging his hands along Eren’s sides as he moves closer, then nudges the head of his cock against Marco.

As much as Eren likes teasing him, working him up with his fingers or his tongue, he can never keep that up once he’s pressing into him. His eyes flutter closed as he slides in, teeth digging into his lip, and as he bottoms out, Marco can’t help but whimper for him, his thighs wrapped tight around his waist again.

Eren ducks his head and kisses Marco breathlessly, shifting his weight slightly. He doesn’t wait long before he pulls out slowly, then rocks back in, always so careful in making sure that Marco is comfortable before he starts moving. 

He sets a slow, steady rhythm, taking Marco in long strokes that have him gasping and arching against him. Marco lightly drags his nails down Eren’s back, until he can shove the waist of Eren’s pants down under his ass. He grabs firm handfuls of him and pulls him deeper, and both of them moan shakily at the sensation. Eren gets the picture, though, and moves a little harder, fucking him a little deeper, but still keeping that purposeful pace that drives Marco so crazy in the best ways. 

“Fuck, Marco,” Eren gasps, resting his forehead against Marco’s. “You feel so good, so tight, ah—”

Marco keens, flustered by Eren’s praise, and as much as he loves the sound of Eren’s voice all rough and low like this, if he keeps talking there’s no way Marco could hope to last.

He leans up and kisses him again, moaning against him when Eren eagerly fucks his tongue between his lips. Eren lets Marco distract him, absolutely reveling in the way Marco’s thighs are starting to shake around him with every thrust. 

Eren hums, then pulls away from Marco’s lips with one more lingering kiss. He mouths down Marco’s long neck, nibbling gently at his collarbones, then shifts his weight so he can lave his tongue over one of Marco’s dark nipples. Marco’s breath hitches at that, and he squeezes Eren’s shoulders tightly, feeling himself tighten around Eren’s thick cock. The man groans at the feeling, pausing to grind deep into him, chasing that sensation for just a moment before he picks up his pace again.

As he moves, Eren toys with Marco’s nipples some more, and the feeling is almost, _almost_ enough to distract from the hand Eren pulls between them. 

He wraps his clever fingers around Marco’s aching arousal, and the way he drags his thumb through dripping precome, along the sensitive foreskin tucked under the head has Marco throwing his head back with a stuttering groan, pulling Eren deep with his shaking legs. 

“Wanna see you come for me,” Eren rumbles, pressing his lips to the center of Marco’s chest. “Wanna see how good you feel, Marco, c’mon—”

Marco gasps Eren’s name at that, his dark eyes squeezing shut. He rocks up into Eren’s hand, matching the rhythm of his hips so easily it’s almost blinding. Eren guides him higher, whispering sweet encouragement to him, touching him and fucking him so perfectly Marco can’t help but let go.

He breathes a quiet, shivering sigh as he comes, tightening around Eren and arching against him, coming hard between them, earning himself a trembling moan from his companion. Eren fucks him through it, cursing breathlessly as he does, but he somehow manages to keep that perfect, even pace the entire time. It feels so damn good, so incredible Marco can’t help but whine, driven higher and higher by Eren’s attention. 

Once Marco starts coming down, his body flushed and shaking all over, Eren pulls out of him quickly. The hand he wraps around himself is dripping with Marco’s come, and it barely takes a few fast, rough strokes before Eren’s coming for him, collapsing onto his elbow and spilling hot on Marco’s stomach with a gasping moan.

It takes a while for them to catch their breath, Eren’s forehead resting on Marco’s shoulder, Marco’s shaky legs still locked lazily around Eren’s hips. Eventually, Eren presses a few soft, sweet kisses to Marco’s chest, nudging his nose along his collarbone, before he finally rolls to the side and collapses beside him with a groan, slinging one arm over his eyes. Marco chuckles, but he relaxes too, idly reaching over to rest his hand on Eren’s thigh. 

The sound of the rain picks up then, hammering against the windows and the roof, rattling the shutters outside, at which Marco sighs heavily. For just a little while, he’d almost forgotten just how shitty things have been. Eren tends to have that effect on him. 

With a groan, Eren sits up and runs a hand through his hair. He turns to look Marco over, his teeth finding his lip, before he slides off the bed and crosses to the dresser. Fortunately, there seem to be several relatively dry cloths stored there, so Eren brings one over and climbs back into the bed, already moving to clean Marco off before he can even sit up.

“Mm, you spoil me,” Marco murmurs, watching his companion attentively clean their come off of his stomach. Eren flushes slightly at that and shrugs, and once he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and starts tugging his own pants off. 

“We should move early tomorrow.” Marco blinks up at his companion when he speaks, trying not to be distracted by how very handsome he looks naked. “I’ll try to hunt something for us to eat, but you might have to bargain for some rations.”

“I’d be surprised if they would part with them willingly,” Marco sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, frowning slightly. “Their food situation seems dire.”

Eren hums, then comes to sit beside him, leaning down to brush his lips against Marco’s cheek. He kisses him a few more times, appreciative as always of his dark freckles, before he scoots further up the bed and pulls the blankets down invitingly. Marco follows, squirming under the sheets and collapsing onto his back again. He has to pull his pillow down some so his antlers don’t ram into the headboard, but fortunately the bed is long enough that he can lie comfortably. 

Once he’s settled, Eren crawls in after him, wrapping himself around Marco and resting his head on his shoulder. It’s about as close as they can get to spooning, but Eren’s never complained about it, seemingly content with climbing him like vines. 

Marco wraps his arm around Eren’s shoulders, brushing a lazy kiss to the top of his head, and fortunately, it doesn’t take much time at all for them to fall asleep.

\--

Predictably, it’s still raining when they wake. When Marco parts the curtains slightly, it’s so dark he’s almost certain that it’s still before dawn, but the enchanted timepiece hidden deep in his bag tells him it’s firmly mid-morning.

Behind him, Eren groans and stretches, dragging a hand down his face. “You know,” he says, his voice rough with sleep, “I don’t really miss Caer Moray, but you know what they had?”

Marco smiles warmly, coming back to sit on the bed beside him. “Werewolves?”

Eren snorts at that. “Well, yeah, but I don’t miss them.” He blinks up at Marco, lazily resting a hand on one of his bare thighs. “They had _coffee._ You know how long it’s been since I had coffee?”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Marco groans, tilting his head back. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I miss it.”

Eren chuckles, slowly dragging his thumb along Marco’s soft grey skin. He sits up after a moment, and before Marco really has time to appreciate his bare ass, Eren’s already getting himself dressed. Marco does his best not to pout, but based on the way Eren laughs at him, he’s guessing he’s not hiding it that well.

Before Marco’s even wriggled all the way into his pants, Eren’s already dressed, slipping his weapons back into all their hidden little spots with practiced efficiency. “I’ll scout ahead,” he mumbles, checking and double checking to make sure he has everything before he turns to Marco. “I’ll meet you a little ways up the road.”

Marco nods, carefully pulling his shirt on over his antlers with only moderate grumbling. “I’ll try to at least get us some bread,” he says as he tucks the loose fabric into his pants. “It’s hardly sustenance, but I think we’ll be hard-pressed to find meat in these parts.”

Eren hums his agreement, then comes closer, leaning up to press a soft kiss to Marco’s lips. Marco sighs contently, but before he can reach for him, Eren’s already turned toward the window, pulling his hood over his head. He opens the window, glances around, and without further ado, vaults over the sill and into the gloomy woods behind the tavern.

Someday, somewhere, Marco thinks, he’ll be able to walk in the front door with Eren by his side. They make quite a sight, though. A blood hunter, made obvious by the supernatural green glow of his eyes and the faint afterimage they leave in the dark, and a tiefling cleric bound to the deity of misfortune. Marco can’t say he’s surprised whenever they’re turned away by paranoid townsfolk.

With a sigh, Marco continues packing his things and getting dressed, making sure to close the windows and leave a few copper pieces on the dresser before he strides out into the hall.

\--

Eren rejoins Marco on the road a while later, soaked through and looking very sour. Marco doesn’t need to ask how his hunt went; if his expression wasn’t enough, his empty hands and mud-caked boots would tell him everything. 

Marco had managed to haggle for some bread and dried fruit, though, so they stand in the shelter of a dense evergreen and share that for breakfast. 

“You should be safe moving through the town on your own,” Eren says as they’re finishing up, savoring the dried fruit as much as they can. Marco blinks over at him, tilting his head in question. “The guards carry silver weapons,” Eren explains grimly, at which Marco wrinkles his nose in distaste. 

“This far into the mainland? Isn’t that kind of frivolous of them?”

Eren just shrugs. “Who knows what lurks in these woods. I can tell you for damn sure it’s not deer or rabbits.”

Marco sighs at that, then nods reluctantly. “I’ll move quickly. Do you need anything?” Eren shakes his head. “Alright. Wait for me on the other side, then.” 

Eren nods at that, giving Marco’s hand a brief squeeze. Before he can flit off into the trees, though, Marco feels a sharp flicker of anxiety. He holds onto Eren’s hand, and without really knowing why, he says, “Eren—be safe, okay?”

His companion blinks at him, but rather than question him, he nods slowly. “I will. Promise.”

Marco nods stiffly, then lets go of Eren’s hand, chewing on his lip. Eren spares him one last glance, then melts into the shadows of the woods, leaving no trace he’d ever been there to begin with.

He waits a minute or two after Eren leaves, then covers as much of his head as his antlers allow before moving back onto the road, his boots sticking in the mud.

\--

The town is so still, so quiet, Marco’s almost convinced it’s been abandoned. He sees light flickering between battered shutters, though, so rather than press his luck, he quickly makes his way along the main street, the sound of the rain hammering through the gutters almost deafening. Even the guardhouses at the main gates seem empty, although they had to have come out at some point for Eren to have seen their weaponry. 

Marco takes the lack of guards as a fortunate turn, though. He’s never a big fan of having his travel delayed because paranoid humans feel the need to ask him probing questions about where he’s going, or what he’s doing. 

He’s barely out of sight of the gates when he hears the trees whisper to him, which is unusual. He turns and makes his way toward the whispers quickly, slipping between rough trees, carefully stepping over slippery roots, until finally he comes across Eren, crouched on a mossy log and looking incredibly perturbed.

“Do you smell that?” Eren asks agitatedly, his bright eyes scanning between the trees.

Marco frowns, then takes a deep breath, and for a moment he doesn’t smell anything besides drenched forest loam and evergreen sap. 

Then, very faintly, the acrid stink of wood smoke burns in his sinuses.

His frown deepening, Marco turns to Eren. “Could that be from the fires they talked about?”

“Not just the fire,” Eren mumbles. He shifts his weight anxiously, then hops down from the log and looks around. “There’s... something else. Can’t place it.”

“Which direction?”

Eren glances over at Marco, looking him over for a moment before pointing deeper into the woods. Marco nods and vaults over the log, then sets off in the direction Eren had pointed. 

If the trees weren’t so dense, Marco would be able to see the sky, to see if there’s a plume of smoke for them to follow. Without that much, the only thing he has to go on is his nose and his instincts, but he’s navigated worse places with less. As they slip through the trees, skirting puddles of water even the forest floor can’t hope to soak up, Marco stays alert, waiting for the familiar tingle in his antlers that usually accompanies omens from his patron.

The tingle doesn’t come, though, not even when they find the source of the smell.

It’s a small clearing, but not a natural one; it was very clearly made recently, and by force. The trees are bent and broken, shattered stumps lining the edges of a crater blown out of the mud, and even with the pouring rain, Marco can still make out embers crawling like insects through gaps in the charred bark.

The embers are purple.

Marco moves forward slowly, cautiously glancing around. He knows Eren is already most of the way through securing the area, so he directs his attention to the crater. The dirt sloping downward is badly scorched, so water gathers here too, slowly threatening to fill the hole entirely.

In the center of the pool, stained black with mud and wood ash, half-covered by burning pine needles, is a dead elf.

“Huh,” Marco says.

Eren falls to the ground beside him, having come from god knows where. He looks at Marco, then down into the pool, at which point he echoes Marco’s thought: “Huh.”

They look at the elf for a moment longer, watching the rain threaten to submerge him entirely, before Eren turns to Marco and says, “I found this.”

He holds up a plain looking leather-bound book, which looks very much like it had recently survived an explosion. It seems curiously undamaged by the rain, though, and the faint smell of arcane magic wafts off of it. Wrinkling his nose, Marco tilts his head to look at it further, before mumbling, “I guess you smelled wizard, huh.”

“Yeah.” Eren turns the book over in his (thankfully gloved) hands, careful not to open it. “Well, I guess we found their firestarter.” 

“Decidedly not my patron,” Marco sighs, feeling more than a little relieved. 

Eren shakes his head, then looks down at the elf again. It’s hard to tell through the filthy water accumulating around him, but if Marco had to guess, he’d say he was a high elf, still fairly young by elven standards. He was clearly powerful, too, but apparently too powerful for his own good.

A sharp twinge shoots down Marco’s antlers suddenly. They rattle his skull, and he tries to twitch away from the feeling, frowning deeply. 

His patron tweaks them again, irritated with his lack of attention, and as much as he wants to snap at her, he decides to bite his tongue and just listen.

He closes his eyes and sighs, tilting his face up into the rain, and when she urges him forward into the crater, he allows it. She guides him right down into the pool, pushing him to kneel beside the dead elf, and when he opens his eyes, he realizes why.

“Oh,” he mumbles, knowing Eren’s listening to him. “He’s not dead.”

“What.”

Marco shakes his head, reaching down to press his fingers to the elf’s pulse, his pale skin almost shockingly cold. “There’s life in him yet, but not for long.” 

“Okay...?” He hears Eren shift nervously behind him. “What does she want with him?”

“I don’t know,” Marco murmurs. He reaches into the water and lifts the elf gently, pulling at least his head out of the pool. His antlers twinge again, and without knowing why, Marco pushes the elf’s short blonde bangs off of his face, then rests his palm against his forehead.

_‘Is this what you want?’_ he asks. The shiver that runs through his antlers in response is decidedly pleased, which never means anything good. He huffs, then closes his eyes again and starts drawing upon powers he doubts he’ll ever get used to.

When he was young, when he still had ordinary horns and a bad reputation he’d actually earned, Marco once watched a cleric breathe life into the still body of the town drunk. He would have wondered why the cleric bothered, but he’d been so paralyzed by the sight of it, by the crackling power in the stuffy tavern air, by the light that pulsed through the cleric and the drunk both that he’d barely even remembered to breathe. 

Now, Marco channels the same spell, but his is darker, warmer, softer around the edges than the cleric from his youth. Black, smoky tendrils creep from under his hand and curl over the elf’s pale skin, pulsing gently as they seek out what little life he has left. 

Before long, the elf coughs up a somewhat alarming amount of muddy rainwater, sharp sparks of lingering magic lancing all through the water before dissipating into the chilled air. The elf collapses soon after, his eyes having fluttered open just long enough for Marco to see that they’re an unusual, piercing gold color before they roll right back up into his head. 

“Well, he’s stable,” Marco says, looking up at Eren, who just raises his eyebrows at him. “No, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with him now.”

Eren raises his hands in surrender, then tucks the wizard’s spellbook into a lined pocket in his cloak. “Should we go back to that inn? They didn’t seem to ask many questions.”

Marco hums, pursing his lips in thought. “I suppose so, yes,” he decides, before reaching down and sliding his free arm under the elf’s knees. He hauls himself to his feet with surprising ease, barely challenged by the elf’s limp, sodden weight. 

As he hikes out of the still-smoldering crater, Eren reaches out to help him, keeping him steady as he finds relatively solid ground again. He looks Marco over, then glances down at the elf, at which point he frowns deeply.

“What is that?”

Marco blinks, then looks down, and notices for the first time that the elf is clutching a lumpy black rock to his stomach, his grip tight even in near-death. He tilts his head, but he can’t get a good look at it with how tightly the elf is clutching it. “I don’t know, actually.”

Eren gives him a flat stare. “So we’re about to shelter an unidentified wizard with an unidentified rock, because Beshaba _told_ us to?”

Marco huffs, adjusting the elf’s weight in his arms. “The alternative is earning her ire.”

“Fine, fine,” Eren grumbles. “Here, let me take him, I’ll get him back to the room faster.”

“I closed the windows.”

Eren just shrugs at that. “Meh.” He reaches out for the elf, and after considering how it would look for a tiefling with black antlers to haul a rather dead-looking elf back through the town, Marco lets Eren take him. Eren hefts the limp elf over his shoulder before turning and asking, “He still got that thing?”

Marco tilts his head, and sure enough, even upside-down, the elf’s grip on the rock stays strong. “Yeah.”

“Ugh.” Eren glances back at Marco, giving him a small, crooked smile. “See you soon.”

Nodding quietly, Marco watches Eren slip between the trees, out of his sight, then heaves a long sigh. His antlers are still tingling cheerfully, which only serves to make him nervous, but he starts back toward the road anyway.

\--

After securing the same room for another night and fending off a few more drunk farmers who hadn’t been there to accost him last night, Marco climbs the stairs two at a time and quickly lets himself in. 

As he’d implied, the closed window hadn’t stopped Eren from getting in. He’s already gotten settled when Marco slips inside and locks the door behind himself, his arms crossed over his chest, a frown darkening his face. Marco pulls his heavy outer cloak off and drapes it over a chair, then drops his bags before coming over to the bed, where the unconscious elf is steadily soaking the sheets piled under him. 

“He didn’t drop it,” Eren grouses. “No matter what I did.”

Marco raises a stern eyebrow at his companion. “You jostled him?”

“Just a little!” Eren huffs irritably, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it makes me nervous, okay?”

Before Eren can get too defensive, Marco moves over to him and runs a soothing hand down his arm, twining their fingers. Eren relaxes at that, although he doesn’t stop frowning. Marco will take what he can get, though. 

He lifts their hands to his lips and brushes his lips against Eren’s knuckles, then turns back to the elf. “I don’t know what she expects us to do with him,” he murmurs, rubbing his free hand over the back of his neck. “Do you still have his spellbook?”

Eren nods, tilting his head toward where his own dripping cloak is hung by the window. “I’m not touching it without gloves. Wizards are dicks.”

“Probably best to be safe.” Marco sighs, leaning his head back. The humming in his antlers had died down somewhat on the walk back, thankfully, but his patron is only ever quiet for so long. “Well,” he says after a moment, “Not much to do but wait, I suppose.”

“Wait for what, exactly?”

Marco shrugs helplessly, giving Eren an apologetic look. “For him to wake up?”

“And then?” Marco purses his lips at his companion’s short tone, and Eren visibly wilts, dragging his free hand down his face before he mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Marco soothes, squeezing their twined fingers gently. “It’s late in the month, I understand.”

“’S no excuse,” Eren continues somewhat miserably. “None of this is your fault. You’ve never been anything but kind to me.”

Marco can’t help but smirk at that. “Is that so? And the time I tied you to the bedposts and—”

“_Mostly,_” Eren blurts, his face flushing a brilliant red. “Mostly very—very kind to me.”

Chuckling warmly, Marco leans in and brushes a soft kiss to Eren’s forehead. As much as Marco enjoys teasing his companion, he knows well enough when Eren just needs a distraction, when he’s getting into his own head too much. 

With another reassuring squeeze, Marco lets go of Eren’s hand, moving instead to shed the rest of his outerwear. He gets right to warding the room, eager to get it out of the way before their guest wakes up and inevitably distracts them both. He can hear Eren providing himself some busy work too, which is a good sign; it’s when Eren is idle that Marco really starts to worry. 

\--

It takes a few hours for the elf to wake. 

Around nightfall, Eren and Marco are poring over their map, trying to guess which areas ahead of them are most likely to be flooded and impassable, when they hear a choked gasp from the bed behind them.

Eren’s already on edge, whirling to face the bed, his hand flying to the dagger strapped to his thigh. Marco reaches over and grabs his wrist with a warning glance, standing to face the bed as well. The elf has curled himself into a little ball around his rock, still coughing and wheezing, those same arcane sparks shining between his dry lips.

Moving carefully, slowly, Marco grabs his water skin from the desk and shifts closer to the bed, holding it out cautiously.

“Where—” is all the elf manages before he starts coughing again.

“Drink.” The elf looks from the Marco to the water skin and back again, then reaches a trembling hand for it. 

He takes a small sip at first, but upon figuring out that the water isn’t obviously poisoned or anything, he proceeds to suck the entire skin dry, as if he’s been without water for days. Eren makes a surprised sound, but otherwise remains still and silent. 

When the elf finishes, he tosses the skin aside, then sits up and backs away from Eren and Marco, huddling against the head of the bed. His sharp eyes flick between the two of them, almost as if sizing them up. 

“Who are you?” he croaks finally.

“I’m Marco.” Marco gestures over his shoulder. “This is my companion, Eren.” 

The elf squints suspiciously. He undoubtedly knows what they are, just like everyone else who catches a glimpse of them, but for whatever reason, he doesn’t seem afraid. Just... testy.

Before Marco can say anything else, though, the elf’s eyes go almost comically wide. He whips his head around, patting around his stomach, his thighs, and the sheets around him, before he turns to them and blurts, “My—my book—”

“You don’t need that right now,” Eren says gruffly, but understandably, the elf doesn’t take that too well.

“No, I do, it’s—do you have it? Where is it?”

Eren huffs irritably, but moves over to his cloak anyway, pulling one of his gloves on as he goes. He carefully removes it from the inner pocket he’d stashed it in, then turns and shows it to the elf, arching a critical eyebrow at him.

The elf scrabbles toward the edge of the bed, but before he can stand, Marco puts a firm hand on his shoulder to dissuade him. He gets a panicked look for his efforts, those piercing gold eyes shooting between Marco, Eren, and his book. He holds out one hand, the other still resting on the black rock. “Give it to me!”

At that, Eren barks a harsh laugh. “Yeah, okay, so you can blow us up too, just like you did yourself? I think the fuck not.” 

The wizard visibly bristles. “You don’t fucking know me, _blood thief._” Oh, boy. Marco closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I know what you are, now give it _back—_”

“Fuck you!” Eren takes a breath to shout some more, but Marco turns toward him, carefully placing himself between the two. 

“Eren, breathe,” Marco murmurs, resting his hands on Eren’s shoulders. His companion snarls, his teeth already sharpening, hair standing on end. Marco knows it’s not directed at him, though, so he reaches up to scratch gently behind one of Eren’s ears, whispering soothing words to him until his companion relaxes, at least enough that his eyes stop glowing so brightly. 

It’s a simple enough spell, and one he’s used on Eren many times before this. Eren’s just as used to being on the receiving end of it, generally grateful for the assistance, but it’s been so long since Marco’s done it in front of anyone else that he’d forgotten it affects others around him, too.

“Hey, knock that shit off,” the elf blurts. Marco jumps slightly, having almost forgotten about the pissed off wizard in their bed. 

He turns back toward him, resting his hands on his hips. “Well, it wasn’t for you, but it doesn’t seem to be working anyway. No need for such a fuss.”

The elf growls at him, still crouched at the end of the bed. “Give me my damn book.”

Hopeless. Marco sighs, his eyes fluttering shut briefly. “I think you understand why we’re both hesitant to do that, Mister—”

“I don’t need it for everything,” the wizard snarls, and just as he’s lifting his hand, preparing to cast something, a black dagger flits past Marco and buries itself in the bed between the elf’s thighs without a sound. 

The elf freezes, then glances down, staring at the thin slit the sharp metal had cut through his mud-caked pants along the inside of his thigh.

“If you even think of starting that cast,” Eren growls, “I’ll show you why they call my kind blood thieves.”

The wizard stares at Eren, swallowing heavily. 

He sits back on his heels, though, moving his rock behind himself. Marco glances back at Eren, but he’s familiar enough with playing on superstition and folk legend to gain an advantage. Those sorts of tactics are a point of pride among the other clerics of his order, after all.

“Okay, look,” the elf says, trying valiantly to hide the tremor to his voice. “I just—I don’t know how long I was out, and the spell that protects it from the rain only lasts a few hours, okay? I need to know if...” He swallows again, glancing between them, before lowering his piercing gaze to the sheets and whispering, “Please.”

Marco looks him over for a moment, then turns and raises an eyebrow at Eren, who just frowns harder. He turns back to the wizard, who’s anxiously chewing on his thin lip.

“What’s your name?” Marco asks gently, hoping to diffuse at least some of the tension in the room. 

The wizard looks up at him, considering him for a long moment before finally answering. “I’m Jean.”

“Jean,” Marco repeats. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“I’m not opening this damn thing,” Eren huffs in lieu of any pleasantries. “And I’m not letting you open it either. You’ll just have to take my word that it’s not wet.”

Jean looks briefly relieved, but that pinched frown comes over his face again quickly. “And I have such great reasons to believe that, right? Well, you’ll just have to take my word that it’s not rigged to explode on my command.”

Eren snorts loudly, but Marco can tell he doesn’t really have a good comeback for that. He thinks for a moment longer, and before Marco can intervene, Eren grumbles, then tosses the book toward the bed and turns to face the window.

Before it even hits the sheets, Jean is already scrambling to catch it, passing shaking fingers over the soft cover as if feeling for damage. He glances up at them, then opens the book, flicking through the worn, dog-eared pages just to make sure. Nothing glows or sparks, and there’s no pungent arcane smell that usually accompanies mage work, so Marco crosses his arms comfortably and waits. 

“Thank the Seldarine,” Jean finally mumbles, closing his book and holding it close to his chest. “Thank you,” he continues quietly, speaking more to Marco than Eren. 

“You’re welcome,” Marco says, but only because he knows his companion won’t. 

Jean nods tightly, then clears his throat and sets his spellbook on the bed beside him. “So, what do I owe you, then?” Not catching his drift, Marco tilts his head curiously. “You seem to have saved my life... somehow. For some reason. So how much do you want?”

Marco blinks widely. “You knew you were dying?”

The wizard huffs irritably, crossing his arms tightly over his narrow chest. “Yes.” He licks his dry lips, then mumbles, “I... I knew before that one even went off. That I’d fucked up. I tried to contain too much in too small a space, there was only one way it could’ve gone.”

Humming softly, Marco comes to sit in the chair beside the bed, trying not to intimidate their guest. “So you’re the one behind these recent fires, then? The magical ones?” Jean nods stiffly, having the good sense to look ashamed of himself. “I see...”

“Not one of her signs after all, huh,” Eren says from the window. 

“I’m not so sure,” Marco sighs, looking Jean over. “You’re of the school of evocation, yes?” Jean nods again. “Is your fire normally purple?”

At that, Jean shakes his head quickly. “It’s blue, always blue.” He bites his lip, anxiously glancing between Marco and Eren some more. “I don’t—I don’t know what changed.” That’s enough to give Marco pause. His patron can be subtle from time to time, sure, but this sort of omen is unusually delicate for her. 

Well, may as well be up front.

“What do you know about Beshaba?” Marco asks bluntly. He can feel Eren staring at him, but he stands firm. 

Jean’s clever eyes flick up to Marco’s antlers, then back to his face. “She’s the goddess of misfortune and accidents,” he answers slowly. Marco can sense him starting to withdraw slightly, but he can’t say that he’s surprised. His patron has that effect on people. Nearly all people, in fact, save for Eren.

“Yes.” Marco sighs, rolling his loose sleeves up to his elbows. “And she tends to express her interest in those ways. When she really wants something, though, sometimes she’ll warp fires to her favored color in hopes that one of her followers will be drawn to it and lend her a hand.” He crosses his arms, looking Jean in the eye. “I believe that, for some reason, she wanted us to save you.”

Jean wrinkles his nose at that. “I’m not one of hers—no offense,” he’s quick to correct. Marco wishes he could say the same. “I don’t know what she’d want from me, unless...” 

The wizard frowns deeply, glancing down at his spellbook. He thinks for a long moment, so hard Marco can almost hear it, before leaning up onto his knees and digging in his pockets. His clothes are still fairly soaked, though, and the few things he pulls out of his pockets are most likely ruined. He huffs irritably, then glances up at Marco again. “You wouldn’t happen to have any phosphorus, would you?”

Eren moves forward at that, already bristling. “You want us to _give_ you ammunition? Knowing that you’re a fire mage?”

Jean glowers right back at him. “It’s for Dancing Lights, asshole. A cantrip won’t kill you.” He shifts his weight, coming to stand beside the bed unsteadily. “I don’t... have the energy for anything stronger right now, anyway.”

Shrugging idly, Marco stands and moves to his bags, digging around for his own spell supplies. Eren sputters at him, but if he really wanted to protest, he would. Marco digs out his little half-full phosphorus bottle, then turns and holds it out to Jean in his open palm, smiling encouragingly. 

The wizard stares at him for a long moment, then averts his gaze and takes the bottle from him. He wipes his hands dry on the sheets before opening the bottle and tipping a tiny pile of the fine, rust red powder into his palm. Marco takes the bottle when Jean hands it back to him, then takes a cautious step back. 

Jean takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, clenching his fist around the powder. 

He’s quiet for a long moment, his lips barely moving as he recites the cantrip under his breath. He holds his fist out in front of him, brow furrowing, and Marco’s just starting to worry that the wizard really is too tired for this when he sees sparks fly out from between Jean’s singed knuckles. 

Jean lets out a long, shaky breath, then slowly opens his fist, and four small, flickering balls of pale blue flame drift from his hand and, true to their name, start to dance lazily around him. 

“That’s mine,” he says softly, his voice trembling. “My fire. But...”

Steeling himself, Jean reaches for the flames and guides them into a tighter clump in front of him. He turns toward the bed, then pulls one of the little fireballs out of the cluster, and before either Marco or Eren can question him, sends it to hover above the lumpy, unassuming black rock he’d been so protective of.

As the fire comes closer to the surface, it seems to struggle, bright flares lashing out and crackling agitatedly. Jean grits his teeth and focuses, letting the other three go so they can go back to orbiting around him. With both hands, he exerts his influence over the fireball, a light, sickly sweat breaking out over his brow.

The moment the reluctant fire touches the surface of the rock, it spasms in a shower of blinding sparks, then explodes into a vicious, guttering purple star. 

Marco stares in awe, while the excited humming in his antlers grows nearly unbearable.

Unfortunately, the white-hot sparks settle happily onto the sheets, and no matter how much water Jean had leaked onto them, it’s not quite enough to stop them from bursting into flame.

Eren curses loudly, bolting over to grab Jean’s wrists and pull them apart, effectively breaking his concentration on the spell. The blue fireballs flicker out first, and after some extremely unhappy sputtering, the purple one dissolves too.

Breaking himself of his stupor, Marco grabs a fistful of Jean’s coat and wrings a few drops of water from it into his palm. He mumbles a short spell of his own, then sweeps his hand over the bed, and a small torrent follows, drenching the bed and dousing the flames before they cause too much damage. 

“Oops,” Jean mumbles weakly. “Um. Sorry.”

Before either of them can respond, Jean’s trembling knees give out. He collapses beside them, his wrists still captive in Eren’s grasp, but he apparently can’t even summon the strength to pull them away. 

“Hey, don’t die again,” Eren blurts, shaking the wizard lightly. 

“I won’t,” Jean murmurs. He’s still sweating heavily, though, looking very much worse for the wear. “I just... need to go home and sleep. For a day. Or two. Probably... probably two.”

Marco rubs the back of his neck as he glances down at him, then up at his companion, who looks about as lost as he feels. 

Seems they’ve found what Beshaba wanted them to. Now Marco just needs to figure out what she wants from it, and how to keep it far, far away from her.


	2. Grim Psychometry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marco has to ask Jean for a favor, but finds himself once again surprised by the eccentric wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long delay, but i'm back and as grossly excited as ever please enjoy my hot mess magic boys

Fortunately, Jean lives in the same town Marco had passed through earlier in the day. Seeing as he’d basically blown up their bed, Jean agrees to house them for now, to give them all time to figure things out. They let him rest for a while at the inn first, at least until he can stand on his own again.

As he’s gathering his things, Marco notices that the copper pieces he’d left on the dresser this morning are still there. With a guilty look at the state of the room, at the soaked and slightly charred bed, he slips a gold coin into the pile, then leaves in a hurry. Jean gives him a funny look, but thankfully seems too tired to really question him. 

When Marco and Jean step outside, the rain is mercifully light. The wizard still shivers, though, pulling his damp cloak around himself as he turns to face Marco. Jean’s opening his mouth to say something, but instead he just blinks at Marco, then looks around for a moment. “Where’s the other one?”

“Eren? He’ll join us soon enough.”

Jean frowns slightly. “Is he still in the room?”

“No, he left before we did.”

The wizard opens his mouth again, but seems to decide that it’s not worth the energy, choosing instead to turn away and start down the dark road. Marco chuckles at that; he guesses Jean hadn’t noticed Eren opening the windows and slipping through them, due either to exhaustion or just plain obliviousness. 

He lets Jean lead the way back to the town, then down some winding, cobbled side streets, barely lit by a few flickering gas lamps. The gutters are nearly overflowing, even with the rain having let up from earlier in the day, filling the narrow street with the echoing sound of water pouring into deep storm drains. Joined houses rise tall on either side, seeming almost to loom over them as they pass, windows sunken and shuttered like staring eyes in the dark. 

Jean comes to a stop in front of another tall, narrow house, nearly identical to the rest on the street. He pulls a jingling key ring out of a pocket in his cloak, then presses his palm to the door. The faint, burning smell of dispelled magic wafts past Marco, barely noticeable over the smell of the rain.

Once he’s removed his wards, Jean unlocks the door, hauling himself inside with a groan. 

His house is surprisingly homey, for a wizard hovel. Naturally, there are books literally everywhere, on shelves and tables and chairs, in piles on the stairs, some stacks dustier than others. There are drying herbs and leaves hung from the ceiling, too, some much fresher than others. As Marco looks around, taking in the books and reagent bottles and other assorted odds and ends required for spellcasting, Jean shifts nervously.

“Sorry, um. For the mess.”

“It’s fine,” Marco laughs, giving Jean a soothing smile. “Trust me, I’ve been around plenty of wizards in my time. Besides, haven’t you ever met an artificer?” Jean stares blankly and shakes his head. Marco chuckles at that, then looks around some more. “Most of them have a somewhat unhealthy fixation on taxidermy. I’m sure you can imagine the smell.”

Jean wrinkles his nose in distaste. “I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you.” 

“Understandable.” Marco turns back to Jean, glancing him over. He’s still shivering, poor thing. “You should rest, Jean. If you tell me where the room is, I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Jean pulls his cloak off and hangs it by the door, then carefully pulls his rock and his spellbook out of the pockets, clutching them to his chest. He looks back at Marco, tilting his head toward the rickety stairs. “This way.”

Marco follows Jean up the stairs, careful not to knock over any books. He has to duck his head near the top to avoid cracking his antlers on the ceiling, but he’s gotten used to that by now. On the landing, Jean shuffles his things into one arm, then presses his hand against the door right at the top of the stairs, and this time, the sharp scent of dispelled magic is stronger, since it doesn’t have to compete with the rain. 

“Do you ward every door, or just the ones you like the most?” Marco teases, slipping past Jean into his small spare room. 

“Just a habit,” Jean grumbles. “Picked it up from my mentor. Paranoid bastard.” 

Marco hums at that, hanging his drenched cloak on a hook on the wall and setting his bags down nearby. There’s only one window in the room, the same thin, eerie windows as the rest of the houses along this street, but this one seems to look out on nothing but inky blackness.

Turning back to Jean, Marco points over his shoulder and asks, “Does that look out over the woods?” Jean nods, quirking an eyebrow in question. Before he can ask, Marco turns to the dim lamp and puts it out, then strides across the room and pulls the window up. It groans and protests, clearly in a state of disuse, but it opens with a little coaxing.

Marco shifts to the side to make room, then snaps his fingers, igniting sparks into sharp purple flames for a brief moment. He shifts all the way aside, and under the sound of the rain, he can just barely hear the sound of a tree branch groaning. The familiar sound of boots hitting the wall follows. Marco turns back to Jean, mostly to see his reaction when gloved hands wrap around the sill. Those sharp golden eyes widen comically as Eren hauls himself through the window, dripping and grumbling. 

Unfortunately, the window is too narrow, the space between the sill and the glass too short, so Eren’s left with no choice but to wriggle into the room like a worm, hitting the ground with a winded ‘oomph.’ Hardly his most graceful entrance.

Jean stares between them as Eren pulls himself to his feet, brushing himself off indignantly, before the wizard finally manages a feeble, “... Okay.”

As Eren’s making himself comfortable, yanking the window closed before finding somewhere to hang his own cloak, Marco moves back over to Jean, resting a warm hand on his bony shoulder. “Thank you for your hospitality, Jean. For what it’s worth, you have my word that we won’t abuse it.” 

Jean just shrugs. “I mean, half of my house is booby trapped, so you’re welcome to try.” He nibbles his lip, glancing over at where Eren is shaking the water out of his hair. “There’s, um. Only one spare bed. I hope that won’t be a problem?”

From the back of the room, Eren snorts. “Hardly.”

Curiously, Jean flushes at that. It’s brief, though, overtaken soon enough by that exhausted pallor he’s been sporting since they pulled him out of the crater. 

“Jean,” Marco says softly, getting his attention again. “Rest, please.”

“Yeah.” Jean clears his throat, taking a step back, clutching his book and his rock tighter to his chest. “Yeah, okay. I’m the door at the end of the hall.” Marco smiles widely and nods, and with that, Jean retreats to his room, dispelling yet another ward before slipping inside. 

Marco snorts, then closes the door and turns back to Eren, who’s already sitting on the bed and pulling his boots off, looking disgruntled. 

“That window sucks,” Eren grouses, running his hands through his hair. He looks up at Marco, who crosses over to stand between his spread knees and runs a gentle hand down his cheek, which has those bright green eyes fluttering closed.

“I hate to suggest it, but you might have to wait the moon out in here,” Marco murmurs. Eren frowns at that, budging his face harder against Marco’s hand. Marco snickers, but gives his companion the scratches he’s clearly craving. 

He threads his fingers through dark, dripping hair, gently dragging his short nails over the sensitive skin behind his ears. Eren shivers, visibly relaxing into the touch. Marco can just barely make out the sharp point of a fang resting against Eren’s lower lip, too long now to really keep hidden in his mouth. 

“It’s that close already, huh?”

Eren blinks up at him, looking a little hazy for a moment before shaking his head to clear it. “Tomorrow or the next day. Can’t tell too well with the damn clouds.” Marco hums sympathetically, continuing his gentle scratches. Eren’s eyes slide shut again, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he leans into Marco’s affection. 

“Luckily, we have some time to relax,” Marco murmurs. Eren nods vaguely, then wraps his arms around Marco’s waist and flops back onto the bed, earning himself a startled squeak. 

Marco allows it, though, letting Eren get all of his aggressive cuddling out of his system before they finally get ready to sleep.

\--

Despite Jean’s insistence that he’d need about two days of sleep, he’s already up and moving around by the next afternoon. 

He’d bathed at some point, too, wearing fresh clothes and looking significantly more lively as he walks past the spare room and skips down the stairs. Curious, Marco carefully disentangles himself from Eren, who just grumbles in his sleep. He pulls his loose shirt on over his antlers and shuffles into a dry pair of pants, then slips out the door and down the stairs after Jean. 

Marco finds him in the kitchen, already shuffling some things around, presumably in search of food. Not wanting to startle him, Marco clears his throat from the doorway, announcing his presence as gently as possible. 

Jean stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head. “Seems you weren’t a fever dream after all.”

“Seems not,” Marco chuckles, idly crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re up much sooner than I expected. Did you get enough rest?”

The wizard hums as he pulls a few things out of the pantry. “Enough for me, yes.” He gives Marco a crooked smile. “Elves don’t really sleep.”

“A useful trait to have for someone constantly seeking knowledge.” 

Jean shrugs, then lights his stove with a quick flick of his fingers, and god, Marco can’t remember the last time he had a hot meal. He nibbles his lip for a moment, but before he can say anything, Jean says, “There’s enough here for three.” 

Surprised, Marco blinks a few times before remembering his manners. “You’re very kind.” 

“Well, I kind of owe you, so.” Jean glances at Marco briefly, then goes back to cooking whatever sort of meat he’d had stored away. Bacon, maybe, but as it starts to sizzle in the iron pan, Marco mostly just smells the preserving magic burning off of it. A neat trick, especially given the food shortages brought by the rain. 

Marco clears his throat, moving closer. “You don’t have to think of it like that,” he says, because honestly, he’d rather Jean didn’t. Marco’s not a big fan of debts. “Just think of it as my pa—my lady bringing us to the same place at the same time. For some reason.” 

At that, Jean frowns slightly. He looks Marco over again, clearly studying him, his piercing gaze hovering on Marco’s antlers. “So you _are_ a cleric of Beshaba.” 

It takes a lot for Marco to not huff a sigh. “Yes, I am.”

Jean purses his lips, then lowers his gaze to the cooking meat, which is decidedly bacon. “She told you to revive me?”

“Less reviving and more stabilizing, but yes.” 

“Why?”

Marco hums quietly, rubbing his nose in thought. “I... don’t know. I don’t often understand her whims.”

That catches Jean’s attention again. He pauses as he’s flipping the bacon, his thoughts whirring away again, but if he comes to any conclusions, he keeps them to himself. 

For a long moment, Marco just watches Jean cook, chewing on his lip again. 

The moon is pressing close, but the idea of letting Eren loose in the woods makes him incredibly nervous. Even if they truly are empty now aside from the occasional arsonist, the town’s guards still carry silver weaponry, and they’re most likely ready to use it at the slightest provocation. 

Their window is damn tiny, too; if Eren does go out, there’s no guarantee he’d fit back in safely should he suddenly need shelter. The spare room may be cramped, but at least it’s safe. 

“Jean, I hate to ask this of you,” he starts cautiously, “Because you’ve been wonderfully kind to us, despite clearly knowing what we are. Your hospitality is... refreshing.” Jean blinks over at him, dumping the first batch of bacon onto a plate. “It’s just... I need to beg another favor of you.” 

“Okay?”

Marco sighs, crossing his arms again. “Starting tonight or tomorrow, we’re going to need about a day’s worth of privacy. In your spare room.” Realizing now how he sounds, Marco sputters, “If—if it’s alright! If it’s not, we can make do, I just—”

“That’s fine,” Jean says shortly, turning to lay a fresh batch of bacon in the pan. As it gets going, he turns to Marco and pulls something out of his pocket. It looks like a timepiece about the size of his palm, shining gold and heavily enchanted. Jean studies it for a moment, and as he does, Marco can see that it not only tracks the time, but also the calendar date and the phases of the moon, which is both incredibly cool and, at the moment, incredibly damning. 

Jean purses his lips, then looks up at Marco again, who’s trying not to squirm. “So he’s with the lycans, then?”

Damn clever, even for a wizard. Marco chews on his lip for a moment before shrugging. “He was, for a time. He’s not anymore. Their curse just... lingers.” Jean makes a pensive noise, but before he can turn around, Marco finds himself inexplicably desperate to explain. 

“I think you should know,” he starts, “The blood thief thing—it isn’t true.”

As he slips his timepiece back into his pocket, Jean tilts his head and reaches behind himself to lower the flames under the iron pan, clearly giving Marco his full attention. “How so?”

Marco sighs, dropping his hands into his pockets just for something to do with them. “Yes, he uses blood magic. Yes, he was adopted by the lycans and... brought into their order. But you should know that anything he casts, he only does it with his own blood. Those stories people tell about his kind draining innocents of their blood to fuel their magic, for the most part, they aren’t true. It’s just a story people made up to give them an excuse to be afraid of what he is. Of what they think he’s willing to do.” Marco sucks on his lip for a moment, watching Jean mull that over. 

He could go into detail about it, about how angry it makes him, about how good a person Eren really is, but he swallows it down. Instead, he takes a breath, then says, “You should know that he didn’t choose this.”

_‘And neither did I,’_ he wants so badly to say, but he bites that down too for now.

Jean tilts his head thoughtfully, then gives Marco a curt nod before turning back to the stove, drawing the flames higher again. He goes back to cooking, but Marco can tell he’s thinking hard about something. Whether it’s what Marco had said or something else entirely, he couldn’t know, but he’s optimistic. 

“I’m, um. Going to go wake him,” Marco murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Sure.” Marco nods and turns to leave the kitchen, but before he gets far, Jean calls, “Marco?”

He pokes his head back into the doorway. “Yes?”

“What is he called, then?” Jean turns to look at Marco, looking... flustered? Marco can’t quite place the expression on the wizard’s face. He blinks widely, tilting his head in question, so Jean huffs, then points himself. “Wizard.” He points to Marco next. “Cleric.” He raises his thin eyebrows, then points at the ceiling. “... Dog?”

Marco snorts loudly at that. “I wouldn’t call him that if you want to keep all your fingers. He gets... chompy.” As true as it is, Marco can’t help but chuckle. “He’s a blood hunter.”

Jean frowns deeply. “That’s not really better.”

“No, it’s not,” Marco agrees. He slips back out of the kitchen then, climbing the stairs quickly to rouse his companion.

\--

At breakfast, Marco and Eren both try to rein themselves in and pretend they’re in polite company while they eat, but Marco’s pretty sure Jean sees through their efforts. It’s just been so damn long since they’ve had actual meat or fresh bread with honest-to-god butter. Eggs are still a distant memory for all of them, but Jean mumbles something about having been looking into it. 

It’s after breakfast that Jean hits them with the haymaker. 

Marco and Eren are both relaxing at the table, freely reveling in the feeling of having full, satisfied stomachs, when the smell hits them.

Eren whips his head around to where Jean is tending a boiling pot. “Is that—”

The wizard turns and blinks at him. “Do you not like coffee?”

All Eren can really do is gape at him. Jean gives him a strange look, but pours a mug for each of them, and when he puts one in front of Eren, Marco really has to wonder if his companion might cry. It had been—what, just yesterday that Eren had lamented the genuinely depressing lack of coffee? And yet here they are, entangled in the best dream either of them have had in a long time.

“Uh,” Jean says awkwardly as he slides back into his chair. “There’s more in the pot, if you want some.”

Eren nods dumbly, wrapping his rough fingers around the mug. Unable to resist the urge to tease, Marco snickers, “Careful, Jean, or he might just fall in love with you.” Eren splutters indignantly, his face flushing dark, but Marco just grins at him, poking his tongue out between his teeth before lifting his own mug to his lips.

When he glances over at Jean, he can’t help but notice that he’s just as flushed, trying desperately to hide his face in his mug.

Marco sips his coffee contently, studying them both as he does. He leaves them alone for now, though, not wanting to make Jean too uncomfortable when he’s doing them so many kindnesses. 

Once he’s gotten over his astonishment that coffee is still, in fact, a thing, Eren leans back in his chair and gives Jean a pointed look. The wizard pretends not to notice at first, but it’s kind of hard to let on that you don’t notice a pair of burning green eyes fixed on the side of your head, so he gives up on it pretty quickly. Instead, he stares right back, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“I think,” Eren says slowly, “That we need to talk about that rock of yours.”

Jean pales slightly at that, but he doesn’t back down or try to divert their attention. Or light them on fire, which is as big a win as any, honestly. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

Eren raises his eyebrows right back. “What _don’t_ I want to know? What is it, where did it come from, how did you get it, what do you and Beshaba want with it, the list goes on.” 

The wizard grumbles, but finishes his coffee and stands, walking right out of the room. They hear him run up the stairs, his stride curiously heavy for an elf, and before long, he comes back down into the kitchen, his narrow fingers wrapped tight around the rock’s lumpy surface.

If Marco had to guess, it looks like the kind of rock that comes out of the deep places in the earth. Once molten hot and glowing, now cooled and condensed to a sphere about the size of two fists put together. It seems relatively unremarkable, all things considered, but something about it still makes Marco uneasy, and it’s not just the faintly pleased rumble trailing down his antlers. 

“For your first question,” Jean says, sliding into his chair and setting the rock on the table, “I don’t know exactly what it is. I just know that it’s holding something, and I want rather badly to know what it is.” 

“Clearly,” Eren mumbles drily. 

Ignoring him, Jean folds his hands on the table and sets his gaze on the rock. “As for how I got it, um.” Jean purses his lips, mulling his words over. Marco notices that the tips of Jean’s pointed ears are flushed. “I... procured it... from a traveling warlock.”

Eren boggles at him. “Okay, why the fuck—”

“I know!” Jean throws his hands up, then runs one through his short hair. “I know, I know. Look, a few months ago he showed up at the tavern, and I happened to be there. I could sense it from across the room. I got curious, so I may or may not have bought him a few drinks to loosen his tongue.” He sighs, leaning his chin in his hand and sulking slightly. “All I could get out of him was that it contained something truly magnificent, something that would make him infinitely more powerful than he already was, blah blah.”

“So you stole it?” Marco supplies, amused despite himself.

Jean snorts at that. “I seduced it off of him. Thievery isn’t exactly my strong suit.” Eren’s eyebrows shoot up at that, but Jean doesn’t seem concerned with his opinion. “I don’t know where it came from before that, so don’t ask. As for what Lady Doom wants with it—” Jean glances up at Marco. “I couldn’t begin to imagine.”

Squirming slightly, Marco clears his throat and finishes his own coffee, giving himself time to gather his wits. “So it’s clearly valuable,” he says finally, staring the rock down. “Why are you telling us so much?”

Jean leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, studying Marco for a long, uncomfortable moment before answering. “Before yesterday, I wouldn’t have. But the fact that your lady wants it suddenly makes me very much _not_ want it. Hells, it made me nervous enough before just because I got it from a warlock. I was just... hoping that maybe it was something less warlock-specific.”

“You’re not worried that the warlock might want it back?” Eren asks, flicking his gaze between Jean and the rock.

“Oh, he’s dead,” Jean says blandly, examining his nails. He looks back up at them, though, and their flat expressions must seem accusatory, because he blurts, “It wasn’t me, don’t look at me like that! I’m not a praying mantis. He just kept getting a little too drunk at that tavern and starting fights with the wrong people. After a few days, a half-orc fighter gutted him, and rightfully so.” Jean pauses, smiling to himself. “Nice lady, that fighter. Always made sure to tip the innkeeper. I hope her journey is going well.”

Eren drags his hands down his face, and Marco can’t blame him. Jean’s turning out to be quite the curious creature. 

“Have you identified it yet?” Marco asks, dragging the conversation back to the object in question.

With a sigh, Jean shakes his head, his ears flushing again. “I can’t... afford the reagents. Besides, this far inland, pearls are surprisingly hard to come by.”

Marco raises an eyebrow, then glances over at Eren, who shrugs.

“I don’t know Identify,” he says, “But I can at least tell you if it’s bad news or not.”

Jean perks up at that. “You can tell its alignment?” 

“Sort of, if you give me a few minutes. Then you can decide whether you really want to keep it or not.”

“Have at it, then.” Jean sits back in his chair, very obviously trying not to look excited. Mages are pretty transparent when it comes to their interest in magic, though, so it doesn’t quite work, but it’s cute regardless. 

Seemingly unswayed, Eren reaches over and grabs the rock, then stands up and leaves the kitchen without another word. Jean stares after him, his pointed ears drooping just slightly, at which Marco has to laugh. Eren tells him his ears are drooping all the time, but this may very well be the first time he’s actually witnessed the phenomenon. 

“He gets distracted easily,” Marco explains, leaning his chin in his hand with a soothing smile. “Especially around the moon. Speaking of which, does that fancy timepiece of yours tell you when the cycle peaks?”

Jean nods, fishing the timepiece out of his pocket again. He slides it across the table to Marco, who stares down at it, gently dragging the tips of his fingers down the smooth golden edge. The arcane enchantments powering it tingle against his fingertips, and god, what Marco wouldn’t give to have one just like it. 

The phases of the moon are marked around the edges of the deep blue face, just outside the hour markings. A long, thin silver hand extends from the center, underneath and clearly secondary to the ornate hour and minute hands, pointing just to the left of the full moon. If Marco had to guess, the hand seems to indicate that the full moon is indeed tonight, cresting in about eight hours or so. 

“You know, Marco,” Jean says, startling him just slightly. Marco blinks up at him, and feels himself flush at the wide, knowing smile the wizard is giving him. “It’s pretty easy to recognize similar interests in people.”

Marco raises an eyebrow at him. “Meaning?”

That smile just widens. “You, good sir, are a magic nerd.”

Sputtering indignantly, Marco sits up straight, having apparently hunched over closer to the timepiece at some point. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, please,” Jean laughs. He leans back in his chair, looking extremely pleased with himself. “I know that face. When I first got that timepiece, I had the same one every time I looked at it. For months! It’s an incredible piece of magic, isn’t it?”

Marco grumbles, but he can’t refute that. “It is rather beautiful.”

Jean hums and nods. His expression grows slightly more serious, though, as he leans toward Marco again and asks, “You weren’t always a cleric, were you?”

And that right there is probably the most unintentionally loaded question Marco has ever heard. His antlers are still for once, thankfully, meaning his patron’s attention lies elsewhere. For the moment, at least. He licks his lips and carefully slides the timepiece back across the table as he contemplates his answer.

“No,” he finally admits. “I wasn’t.”

“What were you before? A wizard? A sorcerer, maybe?”

Marco snorts at that, lowering his dark gaze to his lap. “Hardly. I was fairly ordinary before.”

Jean looks endlessly intrigued by that, already leaning forward excitedly to ask more questions, but before he can, Eren thunders down the stairs and into the kitchen, dropping back into his chair and dumping the rock on the table. He seems nervous, which is worrisome, but his timely interruption still brings Marco no small amount of relief.

“That,” Eren says shortly, pointing an accusatory finger at it, “Is an evil rock.”

With a long, put-upon sigh, Jean leans his head back, closes his eyes, and groans, “Fuck.”

\--

When moonrise comes, Eren and Marco have already been comfortably holed up in the spare room for a few hours. Eren had decided to squeeze a nap in, and while he did so, Marco took his time paging through a book he’d borrowed from Jean on clever concealment of magical wards. 

He has a timepiece of his own, significantly less fancy than Jean’s but perfectly functional nonetheless. He doesn’t need to look at it, though, to know when the moon crests. 

Beside him, Eren curls into a tight ball in his sleep. His brow furrows before his eyes flutter open, bright and almost sparking in the dim light. Marco glances down at him, putting the book aside for the moment in favor of gently combing his fingers through Eren’s hair. He can feel it growing thicker, coarser, can see the rounded edge of his ear already starting to lengthen.

Eren grumbles roughly, scooting closer to Marco and burying his face in his thigh, and as he lets himself go, Marco makes sure to keep petting him soothingly. 

The transformation into the wolf has gotten significantly less violent over the years. Eren doesn’t thrash or scream anymore, doesn’t put every ounce of energy he has into resisting it, into trying to claw the exposed wolf out of his body. Instead, he just breathes deeply, shakily, and if it hurts, he barely lets on. His limbs shift and change themselves, letting out their usual alarming pops and cracks as thick black fur erupts across his skin like wildfire. He keeps his face hidden as best he can while his snout elongates, while his teeth grow long and sharp, even as he grows bigger and bigger. 

As his transformation slows down, Marco carefully moves his hand away, knowing how sensitive he can get toward the end. “I’m still here, Eren,” he murmurs in place of his petting, at which one of Eren’s tall, pointed ears flicks toward him. “Still with you.”

By the time he’s done, Eren’s almost as large as the bed. One of his hind legs hangs limply off the edge, but he doesn’t seem bothered. He blinks slowly, his feet twitching occasionally as he adjusts to his enormous form. After a minute or two, he weakly rolls onto his stomach, then shakes his huge head like a normal dog in the rain. 

Eren blinks up at Marco then, his eyes the same vividly glowing green. They’re made eerier now by the lack of a pupil, or perhaps by the smoky afterimage they leave streaking through the dark, but Marco’s far too used to them to be unnerved. Even Eren’s low whine, a hollow, echoing thing isn’t quite scary enough to send chills down his spine anymore. He just smiles soothingly at his companion, then reaches behind his ears and gives him a few scratches. 

Those eyes flicker shut again as Eren leans into the attention, and while he’ll never admit to it, he wags his big, fluffy tail a little too. 

Marco has admittedly been a little worried about this. A caged wolf is rarely a happy one, and the room must seem twice as small as it had before. Knowing that he can’t go anywhere, can’t run or jump or hunt has to be driving Eren crazy, even if it is for the best. 

After some more scratches, Eren carefully pulls himself to his feet, the mattress groaning loudly under his weight. He looks around, sniffing cautiously, before blinking back down at Marco, who tilts his head in question. 

For lack of words, Eren huffs softly, then leans in and insistently nudges his nose between Marco’s back and the headboard. Marco scoots forward obligingly, watching curiously as his companion wriggles his enormous wolf form behind him, then flops down again and curls loosely around him. Marco looks down at Eren for a moment longer, then carefully leans back against him, letting himself relax when Eren makes a distant, content noise and rests his head on his crossed paws, his wet nose brushing against Marco’s thigh. 

“Will this be okay?” Marco murmurs, gently patting Eren’s head. 

The wolf just snorts, then pointedly makes himself more comfortable, as if to say, ‘It’ll do, now stop asking.’ Marco shrugs at that, relaxing further as he picks his book up and starts paging through it again with one hand, the other resting on Eren’s head, slowly rubbing his fluffy ears. 

They sit like this for a long while, comfortably quiet aside from when Marco tells Eren something interesting his book talks about, idly toying with the idea of changing up some of his own warding techniques. Eren snuffles companionably, but if he has an opinion on the matter, he’ll have to tell Marco later.

It’s almost midnight when Jean quietly knocks on the door to the spare room. Marco glances nervously at Eren, whose nose is twitching and flaring as he sniffs out the source of the sound. He doesn’t seem worked up, though, so Marco turns to the door and calls, “Yes?”

“Sorry, uh,” Jean says, clearly keeping his voice low. “What does he eat?”

Marco blinks at that, then at Eren, who just snorts and rolls onto his side, looking as agreeable as a clearly enchanted wolf roughly the size of a horse could look. Taking this as a positive sign, Marco scoots to the end of the bed, then moves to open the door just a crack. Jean blinks at him, looking surprised. He doesn’t seem nervous at all, though, which is unusual, to say the least. 

“He usually hunts squirrels.” Marco leans against the door frame, glancing briefly over his shoulder. “The woods seem to be about out of them, though. He hasn’t had much luck the last few moons.”

Jean hums thoughtfully. “Does he eat them raw?” Marco turns back to him, then nods. “I see.” The wizard clears his throat awkwardly, averting his gaze as he mumbles, “I have some uncooked meat left, if, um. If he wants some. There’s food for us too.” 

Marco squints at him, pursing his lips in thought. Food does sound good, and Eren could probably use a meal or three, having spent so much energy turning. The only thing is...

“I need to know your intentions,” Marco says plainly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Clearly confused, Jean blinks up at him. “What do you mean?”

“Are you trying to study him?”

At that, Jean flushes and rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, of course I’m curious,” he mumbles. “But I’m not going to turn him into some kind of specimen. I just thought... he might like to get out. Of that room. It’s small.”

Marco considers Jean for a moment longer. “He’s very sensitive. He reacts to fear and anger especially. Letting him loose in your house could be dangerous for you if you try anything, or react badly to him.”

Jean stands up straight, leveling Marco with a determined look. “I don’t intend to try anything aside from feeding you both. If neither of you are comfortable with it, that’s fine. I can just hide in my office.” He pauses, licking his thin lips, then quietly continues, “I understand the difference between a sentient being and an experiment.” 

That sends a twinge of guilt through Marco. He bites his lip, but before he can apologize, Eren lets out a distant, rumbling bark behind him. Jean blinks at the noise, but otherwise doesn’t react, despite how unusual it must sound. 

“Alright,” Marco sighs. “Just... be careful.” 

Whether he’s talking to Jean or Eren, he’s not entirely sure.

Either way, he stands back and opens the door all the way. Eren squirms back onto his belly, then steps off the bed. Even on all fours, standing upright, he’s nearly at eye level with Jean, but the wizard doesn’t seem terribly intimidated. He just looks him over, clearly curious, before turning and moving down the stairs without another word. 

Without hesitation, Eren follows him downstairs, although he has to take them somewhat awkwardly, given his size. He seems otherwise unconcerned, which Marco takes as a good sign. Either Eren trusts Jean well enough, or he’s confident that he’d win in a fight against him. 

He makes a note to ask him later which it is, then follows them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a [twittr](http://www.twitter.com/gaarbage)


	3. Prestidigitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Marco gets frustrated, but the boys make progress anyway.

Hilariously, Jean had indeed prepared a slab of raw meat for Eren. He’d put it on a plate at the table where Eren sat earlier, too, although he’d moved the chair away. Clearly he’d at least anticipated Eren’s size. 

When Eren sees the setup, he lets out a hollow sort of ‘boof’ sound, one Marco recognizes as amusement. Eren moves to the table, picks up the entire hunk of meat in his strong jaws, then pads back out of the kitchen, toward the dark hallway. 

Jean stares after him, but apparently decides not to ask. Instead, he takes his own seat and gestures for Marco to do the same, then digs in. 

Dinner consists of some thin steaks and some small, round potatoes, but compared to how Eren and Marco have been eating the last few months, it looks and tastes like a meal fit for kings. Eren apparently feels the same way about his dinner, based on the faint chomping and slobbering sounds coming from the hallway, not to mention the subtle sound of his heavy tail wagging against the floor. 

Without such a convenient excuse as Eren, Marco tries again to remember his manners as he eats. The food is so flavorful, though, and so warm, it’s difficult to keep himself from licking his plate clean when he’s done. Jean laughs at him, but he’d scarfed his own food down too, so it’s not like he has much room to talk. 

As they’re digesting, listening to the crackling sounds of Eren gnawing on a bone he’d found, Marco asks, “Did you come to a decision about your rock?”

Jean purses his lips, his chin leaned in his hand. “Not really, no. I’m not very interested in evil artifacts. Seems like bad luck, you know?” He pauses, glancing at Marco’s antlers briefly. “No offense.”

Marco just smiles grimly. “None taken. It’s extremely bad luck.” His antlers twinge slightly, but what he said could be taken any number of ways, and his patron has a tendency of interpreting vague things exclusively in her favor. 

“Uh. Right.” Jean clears his throat, pouring himself some more water just to avoid making eye contact. “Well, I spent a lot of time and energy trying to crack it open, so I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at night knowing that someone somewhere knows what’s inside it, but I don’t.” He bites his lip, glancing up at Marco warily. “I, um. I don’t think I can just give it away.”

“That’s fine.” And really, Marco means it, despite the irritated thrill his patron inflicts upon him. “Even near death, you kept your grip on it. I know stubbornness well enough when I see it. I won’t force you to part with it.” 

Another angry snap forces him to close his eyes, furrowing his brow as a throbbing headache begins to form between his antlers. He grits his teeth, battling his own annoyance as much as her influence, then clarifies, “I won’t force you to give up the thrill of solving the riddle.” 

She lets up at that, thankfully, but not without a spark of warning Marco would have to be stupid to ignore. 

He shakes his head slightly, then looks at Jean again, who looks nothing if not concerned. “As for whatever’s inside, I can assure you that it would be safe in my hands.” 

And honestly, it would, but his patron doesn’t need to know that.

Having sensed Marco’s internal struggle, Eren pads back into the kitchen then, what remains of a thick bone hanging from the side of his mouth. He gently places it on the plate left for him, then sits heavily beside Marco, staring down at him with those big, shining eyes until Marco buries his hand in Eren’s chest fur. The touch serves to soothe them both, and when Marco’s headache starts to recede, he breathes a relieved sigh. 

When Marco opens his eyes again, he looks over at Jean, who just looks like he’s lived his entire life in the company of wolves that take up half his kitchen. His utter nonchalance catches Marco off-guard, but he decides against questioning it for the moment.

Asking personal questions, in Marco’s experience, tends to invite even more personal questions in return, and that’s the last thing Marco needs right now.

Jean clears his throat, wrapping his narrow fingers around his mug. “I’m keeping the rock until I solve it,” he says decisively. He considers them both for a moment longer, then steels himself and asks, “If I were to give you whatever’s inside, would I come to regret it?”

What a question. Marco hums, still idly petting Eren’s chest. He knows the obvious answer, but framing it in a way that won’t end with a crushing migraine is slightly more challenging. “I think,” he says slowly, “That entrusting it to me is the best option you have. Regardless of what it is, I know exactly who to give it to. You could, of course, fence it to an artificer and make yourself some gold, but who knows where it could end up after that.” 

Jean mulls that over for a long moment, his thoughts running overtime again. He seems to have a habit of thinking too hard, and too loud. 

Hoping to coax him in the right direction, Marco licks his lips and chooses his next words carefully. 

“I think you’ll find that earning my lady’s favor will prove beneficial.”

His antlers give a pleased murmur, his patron preening at his rare praise.

Deep in his chest, though, far from prying eyes and ears, another pleased glimmer sparks. It’s just a fraction of a second, barely perceptible, but Marco still feels it, unable to help the brief smile that curves his lips. 

The wizard hums, studying Marco some more, before finally nodding shortly. “Fine.”

Eren’s tail thumps against the floor at that, his mouth opening for a brief pant. He stands quickly, though, and moves right back out of the kitchen. Marco winces at the sound of Eren’s long, sharp nails dragging along the wood stairs as he climbs up to the spare room, giving Jean an apologetic look. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jean says, idly waving his hand. “It’ll give them character.”

Marco quirks an eyebrow at him, an amused smile crossing his face. “You don’t think your house has enough character already?”

Jean gives him a flat look. “I’m a wizard, Marco. We never pass up an opportunity to seem eccentric and mysterious.”

Marco can’t help but laugh at that, mostly because he’s not wrong. Every wizard he’s ever met has had quite the flair for the dramatic, to put it mildly. Jean smiles too, his teeth finding his thin lip, before moving to clear their dishes. 

As Marco’s standing to offer his help, Jean turns away from him to set the plates on the counter. He passes a hand over them and mumbles a few words to himself, a cantrip distantly familiar to Marco, and with another sweep of his hand, the scant remains of their dinner glimmer into nothingness, leaving the dishes sparkling clean. 

“Oh, okay,” is about all Marco can think of to say, but he’s not really sure what else he expected. 

Jean gives him a crooked grin, clearly proud of himself. He clears his throat, though, before turning to face him. “If you want, you two can continue to stay here. Just while I figure that thing out. No charge.” 

Marco blinks widely at that. It’s been a long, long time since anyone happily offered to house them for any length of time. “We wouldn’t be imposing?”

“Probably not, no.” Jean flushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at his feet. “I, uh, don’t often have company, so... maybe it would be nice.”

“Oh.” Marco wants to say that he could probably find less cursed company if he’s lonely, but he’s not usually one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Strangely, Jean perks up at that. “Alright. I’ll go into the city early tomorrow and pick up some more food.”

Marco nods vaguely, then remembers his manners. “Let me give you some coin, at least,” he says, already reaching into his pockets. “We’d eat you out of house and home otherwise.”

Jean seems reluctant, but he accepts a few gold coins at Marco’s insistence, then retreats quickly to his room. As he leaves, Marco notices that his ears are flushed again, something he’s coming to recognize as a sign that Jean’s flustered. 

It’s... kind of cute.

When Marco slips into their dark room, Eren’s already sprawled out on his back, his enormous paws hanging limp in the air. They twitch at the sound of the door opening, so Marco whispers, “Just me.” Eren relaxes entirely at the sound of his voice, his tongue lolling out, at which Marco has to snicker. “You’re adorable, you know.”

Eren snorts at that, rolling onto his side almost petulantly. He blinks slowly at Marco, then wiggles to the side slightly, attempting to make at least a little room for him on the bed.

Once he’s disrobed for the evening, Marco crawls into the bed, fitting himself into the space Eren left him with a content sigh. Eren’s so damn warm, such a nice contrast to the lingering chill brought by the relentless rain, inescapable even behind closed doors. He’s got such soft belly fur, too, which is a surprise considering how coarse the rest of his fur is. Marco sighs contently and snuggles into it, earning himself a pleased _whuff._

Despite not having done much today, Marco finds himself struggling to stay awake fairly quickly. As he’s drifting off, he whispers, “Jean asked us to stay.” Eren rumbles softly by way of response. “He seemed... happy. When I agreed.”

At that, Eren gives a somewhat concerned whine, the hollow sound echoing in Marco’s ears. “I know,” Marco mumbles. “He’s such a curious creature. I think he meant it, though.” 

Eren huffs shortly, his hot breath ruffling Marco’s hair. He’s still relaxed, though, so Marco just hums and closes his eyes, letting himself succumb to sleep. 

\--

When Marco wakes the next morning, it’s to a low rumble of thunder, which is far from unusual these days. 

He sighs, pulling Eren tighter against his chest. His companion had shrunk down to his human form at some point, probably in the early morning hours, and is now snoring softly against Marco’s chest. 

As much as he’d like to stay here a while longer, hiding away from the chill in Eren’s warmth, another sound catches Marco’s attention. It’s a clattering sound from downstairs, much closer than the thunder and accompanied by the static shock of powerful magic. 

Marco eases himself out of Eren’s grasp, replacing himself with his bed-warmed pillow, then makes quick work of getting dressed and heading downstairs.

“Jean?” he calls, looking around the wizard’s dark house. 

“I’m fine,” comes the rather pathetic-sounding response. 

Marco turns toward the sound, finding low light emanating from a door under the stairs he hadn’t noticed last night. He pokes his head through the doorway, blinking down another set of stairs leading to a basement. Jean’s sprawled on the stairs near the bottom, surrounded by a few worn-looking packs, an arm slung over his eyes. That static feeling persists for a moment longer before fading, which Jean clearly feels too, based on the relieved sigh he breathes.

An anxious flash of concern washes over Marco, leaving him already trying to remember what healing spells he knows. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no,” Jean wheezes. He kicks his feet out slightly; he has fresh mud on his boots, but it’s nothing compared to how he looked when they met. “I just... went a little overboard shopping. I’ll be fine.”

“Um, okay.” Marco licks his lips, leaning over further to try and see more of the basement. It’s finished, at the very least, the stairs and the floor the same rich, dark wood as the rest of his house. “Do you need any help?”

Jean pulls his arm away from his face and peers up at Marco, struggling with his pride for a moment before giving a stiff nod. 

Marco starts down the stairs carefully, giving the basement a quick once-over as he goes. It’s a small, dimly-lit square room, the walls completely lined with shelves of books and bones and god knows what else. Stuffed in a corner there’s a desk facing the rest of the room, also predictably covered in books and charts, which Marco has just come to expect from Jean.

The thing that really interests Marco, though, is the large, intricate sigil painted on the floor in the middle of the room. It’s heavily enchanted, so much so that the magic wafts off of it like a mirage, colorless plumes curling and twisting in the cool, damp air. There are little piles of white ash in smaller circles around the edges, clearly the now-consumed material components powering whatever spell this is.

Not wanting to stare too much, Marco heads to the bottom of the stairs, skirting around Jean so he can assess his bag situation. They’re all just about overflowing with various things, mostly food-related, but one of them seems to be near bursting with spellcasting supplies, including what looks to be a hefty stack of yet more books, if he had to guess. 

“That one can stay down here,” Jean mumbles, nudging his foot against the bag Marco had just been looking over. “It’ll just distract me, anyway.” 

“Alright.” Marco rolls his loose sleeves up, then sets to picking up the rest of the bags, hooking some of the straps in the crooks of his elbows to make more room in his hands. He exhales, then lifts the heavy bags, careful to move them around Jean as he climbs back up the stairs. 

He doesn’t miss the startled look Jean gives him, nor the way his already-flushed face darkens, but he chooses not to dwell on it. For now, anyway.

Instead, he makes his way up the stairs and into the kitchen, setting the bags down on the table, which groans loudly under the weight of them. Before Marco can pick them back up, though, Jean comes into the kitchen and waves his hand. “Don’t mind that. It’s survived worse, it’s just noisy.”

Marco purses his lips dubiously, then slowly rests the full weight of the bags on the table, keeping the straps looped over his arms for a moment longer just to make sure they won’t go crashing to the ground. 

As he’s fretting over the groceries, Jean gives him a crooked smile and pulls his cloak off, then hangs it on a hook beside a heavily locked and bolted door at the back of the small kitchen. Marco hadn’t taken particular notice of it yesterday, but if he had to guess, he’d bet it leads outside and into the woods. With the way the houses in this town are all smashed together, cramped and towering over the street without a breath of space between them, having a door directly into the forest is probably pretty damn convenient for a wizard who likes to spend his time creating explosions of varying sizes.

“Thanks for your help,” Jean says, bringing Marco back to the present. “I would’ve managed it eventually,” he’s quick to clarify, “But it’s nice to save my energy for putting it away.”

“Of course,” Marco snickers. He clears his throat when Jean gives him a brief, dirty look, dropping his hands into his pockets. “Anything I can do to help?”

Jean goes to shake his head, but when he opens his pantry, he pauses for a moment, then sighs. “Actually, yes,” he grumbles, looking endearingly awkward. “Do you know Purify Food and Drink?”

Marco blinks widely, then turns his gaze upward, trying to remember. He hasn’t had many of these spells for long, nor does he often get a chance to use them. “Yes?” he says finally, and when he looks back at Jean, the wizard is understandably unimpressed. Marco clears his throat, then more firmly repeats, “Yes.”

“Okay,” Jean drawls. He doesn’t comment, though, instead turning back to the pantry and reaching for something at the back of the top shelf. He huffs, going up on his toes, then finally pulls out what seems to be a large, spiky hunk of ice crystals, the bottom of it carved flat. “I bought this from a paladin a while ago, but the cleric across town has been maintaining it for me, so I figure...”

“What does it do?”

Jean hands it to Marco, who’s genuinely surprised at how very room-temperature it is. What he’d mistaken for thick, built-up frost is just the basic structure of the crystal. He looks it over, then raises his eyebrows at Jean.

“It’s a hub for a permanent Purify Food and Drink,” Jean explains. He crosses his arms and tilts his head as he looks at it, his expression almost sullen. “Since I can’t learn it.” 

Ah. That would explain the sulking. Marco bites his lip, containing the urge to laugh.

“It’s about to run out, but the cleric’s been awful busy lately. Do you think you could, uh. Refill it?”

Marco hums, turning the crystal over in his hands. There are dwarven runes etched into the flat underside of it, and when Marco runs his thumb along them, they seem to whisper to him. 

Which would probably be incredibly intimidating, if they weren’t whispering the Dwarvish equivalent of “Fresher longer, the Dain clan oath!”

He snorts, then glances back up at Jean, who’s watching him with no small amount of interest. ‘Magic nerd,’ indeed. 

With a wide smile, Marco nods and sets the crystal down on the table, in front of the chair he’s apparently adopted. “I think I can do that for you, yes. I’ll warn you, I’m fairly out of practice, but I won’t do anything that can’t be undone.”

Jean just shrugs. “That’s more than can be said about just about every spell I cast, so go nuts.” He pauses, teeth catching his lip, before blurting, “CanIwatch?”

Marco snickers at his curiosity. “Sure, I don’t mind an audience.”

As he’s pulling his chair out, he notices Jean’s cheeks flushing pink again and privately pats himself on the back. He shakes that thought loose before it can cause him any distraction, though, and focuses instead on the crystal, trying to recall what little he knows of the language of dwarves. 

Once he’s got most of the spell laid out in his head, Marco licks his lips, then holds his hands on either side of the crystal, and with a long exhale, starts channeling the spell.

Normally, it’d be done with just a wave of his hand and a confident word or two. Infusing a spell into an object is slightly more complicated, though, and generally an art best left to the clever hands of one’s local artificer. As Marco murmurs the words, trying not to be self-conscious about his likely awful Dwarvish pronunciation, he furrows his brow and concentrates.

When his magic finally manifests, it’s the same as all the other spells he’s ever cast, even before his patron’s influence; soft and slithering and devoid of light, snaking coils gently curling over his fingers and sticking in strings to the prickly surfaces of the crystal. 

His heart skips, and he cups his hands closer to the surface of the crystal, trying to hide his magic without losing his concentration on the spell. 

He repeats the words a few times, closing his eyes once he’s sure he’s actually doing something. After a few rounds, the crystal starts pushing back against him, poking his tendrils with bushels of sharp edges to get them to detach. Marco blinks down at it before pulling his hands away, watching those dark strands drip and melt right back out of existence.

To his vague horror, his magic appears to have left a rather noticeable mark. 

Where his shadows had attached to various outcroppings, black seeps like clouding ink into what used to be a light, pale blue formation, leaving those edges stained. He rubs his thumb over one of the spots, but it doesn’t smear or smudge, doesn’t leave the slightest trace on his skin when he pulls it away. It’s just... inside the crystal now.

Marco swallows heavily, then looks up at Jean, who had been watching the whole ritual with great interest. 

“I, um,” Marco manages, wondering where to even begin. 

Before he can gather himself, Jean just shakes his head and grabs the crystal with his bare hands, turning it over excitedly. “Ooh, that’s new,” he says cheerfully, which at this point doesn’t really surprise Marco.

Marco licks his lips nervously. “I know it looks, um...”

Entirely unconcerned, Jean just waves him off. “This thing was pink when I bought it, you’re fine.” 

He turns back to his pantry, and with the unwavering trust of either a madman or an absolute idiot, puts it right back where he got it from.

The pantry seems to hum for a moment before several intricate characters carved into the ceiling of it light up a pale blue. Jean gives a satisfied nod, then turns back to Marco with a brilliant smile. “Good work.”

“Uh,” is still all Marco can think of to say, unable to quite shake the nervous sweat. 

Too often, the stained remains of his spellcasting leave people backing away from him, their imaginations running wild with whatever evils they believe he’s left behind for them, no matter the spell, nor the effect. There’s a reason he sticks to well-contained physical wards wherever he can, rather than hiding his own magic within the walls, and it’s as good as Eren’s reason to not put up any at all.

Jean’s immediate, eager acceptance of his magic just about gives Marco whiplash.

That smile almost, _almost_ makes him hate his darkness just a little less. 

Almost.

\--

Once they’ve put everything away, Jean awkwardly retreats back to his basement, mumbling something about putting away reagents. Marco is curious, naturally, but he suspects that what Jean really wants is some alone time with that stack of new books. With that in mind, Marco heads back to the spare room again, crawling up to sit against the headboard beside his companion. 

Even though he hadn’t gone hunting at all, Eren is still pretty firmly asleep, worn out just from how much energy everything takes when he’s that much bigger than usual. Marco’s of a mind to let Eren sleep it off, maybe coax him out of bed for dinner, if he hasn’t already gotten up by then.

That, unfortunately, leaves Marco without a whole lot to do but think.

When Jean asked him to refresh an already-existing spell, Marco had really been hoping that his own magic wouldn’t rear its head in quite such a spectacular fashion. Even before he was assigned a new suite of abilities that still, years later, fit like a too-large glove on the wrong hand, Marco’s magic has always had a mind of its own.

Jean hadn’t been bothered, though. In fact, he’d seemed almost excited, like the thrill of seeing something new and unusual outweighed any other feelings he might’ve had about the nature of Marco’s spellcasting.

It was... unusual.

Then, of course, there’s the humiliating matter of Marco barely knowing his own repertoire. He likes to think he has an excuse, but it still brings a burning flush to his cheeks to think about. Maybe if these spells actually felt right, felt like his own, he wouldn’t have such a hard time keeping track of them.

Frustrated, Marco crawls back out of bed and sits on the floor beside it, crossing his legs determinedly. 

To start with, he makes a list of the cleric spells he _does_ remember. The list is short, which doesn’t really help Marco’s mood, and most of them are fairly basic. He knows he was taught a few more advanced ones, but he mostly remembers turning his nose up at them because they involved invoking the power of one’s chosen deity, and, well... 

Huffing irritably, Marco pushes that aside and decides to start small. 

He remembers a few protective wards, mostly the ones he uses to guard himself and Eren while they sleep, but there are also a few more potent, personal ones. He hasn’t even thought about them in a long while, mostly because he can never get his magic under control enough to execute them gracefully.

Marco sighs, then crawls over to his bags, quietly foraging around for his own small stash of reagents. If he remembers correctly, one of the cheaper personal wards just calls for holy water, which is easier to get hold of than one might think. He digs toward the bottom of the box, then pulls the bottle out with a soft, triumphant sound before moving back to his place beside the bed. 

It’s a simple enough spell, just something to protect against a variety of unwelcome influences on the mind. Probably would have been super helpful against the wicked sea fey that lurked on the rocky outskirts of Caer Moray, had Eren not just lost his shit and eaten them all. 

He pauses for a moment, glancing down at his shirt. The collar is loose enough that he can access his chest, but given the way his magic works, he decides it’s for the better to just take it off entirely. White fabric and black magic tend not to mix very well, after all. 

Now shirtless, Marco unscrews the bottle of holy water and carefully wets the tips of his fingers. He licks his lips, then slowly draws the sigil in the center of his chest.

As he closes the circle around the focus, he whispers, “Maintain control,” and immediately, the water smeared on his skin reacts.

It thickens and clouds black, that familiar ink tracing back through his lines before overflowing, then dripping down his chest. He can feel it working; his mind feels guarded, walled off, untouchable by magics much more powerful and more persuasive than him. 

He clicks his tongue and pulls his hand away from his chest, and of course, the ward sticks to him, stretching into thin strands before snapping. Even though this is a sign of the spell’s success, irritation flows through him at the sight. He grits his teeth and wipes his fingers on his pants, then glares down at his chest, at where the sigil dribbles like wax toward his navel. 

“Why?” he mumbles under his breath. “Why do you have to be like this?”

As always, his magic doesn’t respond. It just... oozes.

There’s a shuffling on the bed behind him. Marco closes his eyes and leans his head back against the bed with a long sigh, then murmurs, “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Eren’s voice is rough with sleep still, and he hasn’t sat up yet. He’d just kind of wormed his way to the edge of the bed, and is looking at Marco through half-lidded eyes. “You okay?”

Marco purses his lips, then gives a noncommittal hum. His companion just blinks slowly at him, then reaches over to idly thread his fingers through Marco’s hair, gently rubbing behind his antlers. Despite himself, Marco relaxes into the feeling, allowing Eren to soothe him. 

“Haven’t seen that one before,” Eren says after a while, tilting his chin toward the ward drying on Marco’s chest. 

“It’s a cleric spell,” Marco replies. Eren glances at him, raising an eyebrow. “I—Jean asked me earlier if I knew a spell.” Marco pauses, biting his lip until Eren makes a soft, encouraging sound. “I had to think about it. What kind of spellcaster has to _think_ about what spells they know?”

“The kind that knows too damn many.” He keeps petting Marco, shifting his hand to drag the rough pad of his thumb along the long, pointed edge of Marco’s ear. “You’re in a hard enough spot, Marco. You don’t have to be hard on yourself too.”

It’s a fair enough point, and one he’s made to Eren many times before, but... 

“It’s embarrassing,” he finally admits, fiddling with the little bottle of holy water. “I can’t control my own magic as it is, but not knowing these spells I’ve had for years now...” 

“It’s not like you’ve had guidance,” Eren says. He scoots closer, edging into Marco’s field of view, even though it leaves his head hanging off the bed slightly. “And you’re perfectly deadly without them, anyway.”

Marco huffs a small laugh. “It’s not always about deadliness.”

“I know.” Eren leans in and presses his lips to Marco’s temple, humming when Marco leans more heavily into the attention. “I guess I’m just saying, if they don’t come naturally, then don’t stress out when you forget about them, you know? ‘S easy to forget about stuff that isn’t a part of you.”

Marco turns to look at Eren then, just taking in his soft expression for a long moment before whispering, “When’d you get so wise?”

The crooked grin that spreads across Eren’s face reveals his teasing even before it leaves his lips. “Well, there’s this really cute, really persistent guy that’s been trying for years to get me to accept myself. I figure the stuff he says has to have some merit, ‘cause it’s kinda starting to work.”

Rather than respond to that, Marco just snorts, then leans in and presses his lips to Eren’s. The angle is a little awkward, but they shift against each other until it’s more comfortable. Between the kisses and what Eren had said, Marco can’t help but feel just a little better, even as he feels the ward’s power start to drain away from the edges of his mind.

“Mm, that’s short,” Eren mumbles against Marco’s lips. 

“Hm?”

“Whatever ward that is. ‘S short.”

Marco wrinkles his nose, glancing down at his chest. While the effect is gone, the stain of his magic remains, a messy reminder of how untrained, how uncontrolled it is. “About ten minutes, I think,” he says finally, more of the details starting to rise from foggy memory. 

“It smelled like the ocean.” Marco blinks up at Eren again, who just rolls onto his back and scrubs his eyes. “Salty.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“Dunno. Not bad. What’s it do?”

Marco purses his lips, trying to remember more. “I can’t remember all of it, but I’m pretty sure it protects against charming and possession.”

Eren snorts at that. “Would’ve been useful around Caer Moray.”

Smiling to himself, Marco nods, then reaches up to tangle his fingers idly in Eren’s messy hair. He shifts closer, and when Eren turns to look at him again, Marco catches his lips in a warm, sweet kiss, earning himself a content sigh.

Just as he’s slipping his tongue against Eren’s lips, seeking his intimacy, both of them hear an awkward cough from the doorway, and it’s about then Marco remembers that he hadn’t closed the door when he came in. Eren pulls away from him and rolls quickly onto his stomach, casting a disgruntled glare up at Jean, whose face is very red even as he stares at the wall next to the door. 

“I’m gonna make some food now,” the wizard says, his voice mostly steady. “You’re, uh, welcome to join me. If you want.”

Before either of them can reply, Jean’s hurrying downstairs again. Marco blinks after him, head tilted curiously.

“I don’t get that guy,” Eren grouses, flopping back onto his side. “One minute he’s just casually telling us he seduced a cursed rock off a warlock, but he sees us kissing and acts like he was raised in a damn monastery.” 

Marco smiles over at him. “Like I’ve said. Curious creature.” He pulls himself to his feet, crossing to his pack and fishing around for a spare cloth to wipe his chest off with. As he’s doing so, he turns back to Eren, who has his fingers folded under his head and is unabashedly watching him. Marco smirks at him, but continues what he’s doing as he says, “You know, you’ve done nothing but eat and sleep for like three days. I’m surprised you’re not bouncing off the walls.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Eren groans. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll set in soon enough.”

Marco hums in acknowledgment, but leaves it at that. Once he’s satisfied that the ink has been scrubbed from his grey skin, he slides his shirt back on, unfastening his pants to tuck it back in. Eren just watches quietly the whole time, waiting until Marco’s done to grumble, then roll himself out of bed. 

\--

Dinner is fairly quiet. Eren eats quickly, perhaps more quickly than usual, his restlessness rearing its head just as predicted. His leg is bouncing agitatedly next to Marco’s, their knees brushing constantly, but Marco makes no move to stop it. 

Jean and Marco are both only halfway done when Eren drops his fork and states, “I need to go outside right now.”

Marco gives him a concerned look. He knows how Eren gets when he’s cooped up, but still. “It’s still so soon after the moon, Eren. The woods probably aren’t safe.”

“They barely leave the guardhouse, Marco. I’d bet ten gold they don’t even turn around, let alone scan the woods.”

Jean looks between them, not bothering to disguise his interest. “Who are you talking about?”

Eren sniffs disdainfully. “Your town guards.”

“They have silver weapons,” Marco explains, knowing he’s fighting a losing battle. He’s anxious, though, so he’s gonna try anyway. “At least wait a day or so, yeah?”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jean says mildly. Eren and Marco both turn to stare at him. “They probably don’t even know those are silver. They’re just keeping them polished ‘cause their predecessors told them to.” 

Marco tilts his head curiously. “Why do they even have them?”

Jean hums, his gaze floating upward in thought. “They first got them, oh, wasn’t that long ago... four or five decades, maybe?” Marco feels his eyebrows shoot up at that, and Eren’s do the same. Objectively, he knows that elves are long-lived, but he’d gotten so used to thinking of Jean as being around his age, if not younger. 

Oblivious to their surprise, Jean continues, “I think it was a couple years after I moved here, there was a problem with a band of lycan pirates that somehow made their way out here. Personally, I think they were lost, but I never really stopped to ask them.” He shrugs, then goes back to dissecting a potato. “Anyway, the town forged a handful of silver weapons, but by the time they finished, the pirates had already figured out that we were all broke as hell, so they were on their way out.” He pops a piece of the potato into his mouth with a decisive nod. “I kinda doubt they’ve ever even been used, but we’re far past the days where our guards are trained to spot wolves in the woods. You’re probably fine.”

Eren keeps staring at Jean for a long moment, then points over his shoulder at the door. “That go outside?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it rigged?”

Jean smirks widely. “Yeah.” 

Eren groans, leaning back in his chair. In his stead, Marco smiles at Jean and asks, “Would you mind terribly?”

The wizard shakes his head, brushing his napkin over his lips as he stands. He strides over to the door and dispels the wards with a complicated series of hand motions, and he’s just started to move aside when Eren brushes past him, opens the door, and flickers into the rainy night.

Jean blinks after him, then shakes his head and closes the door again before returning to his own food. 

“Thank you, Jean,” Marco says after a while. The wizard just raises his thin eyebrows at him, so Marco clarifies, “For, um. Setting my mind at ease. About the guards.”

Jean swallows his mouthful, then shakes his head. “They didn’t even notice the mess I was making of the woods. I hate to say it, but they’re entirely decorative. Half of them can barely hold a sword right.” He huffs, blowing his short bangs off his forehead. “No use being nervous about a bunch of potatoes holding shiny sticks.” 

Marco laughs at that, caught off guard. He doesn’t miss the shy smile Jean gives him, but he doesn’t let himself focus on it, either. “That’s fair,” he chuckles finally. “It’s good that he can get out, though. He’s more at peace on his own.”

“He travels with you, though,” Jean says. Marco blinks at him. “And, um. He seemed pretty peaceful earlier.”

“I suppose so, yes.” Marco tilts his head thoughtfully. “Affection does that to a person, I guess.”

“You two seem very happy together.” Jean’s voice is quiet, his gaze steady on the last green sprout he’s idly pushing around his plate, and Marco can’t quite read what he’s actually saying.

“I think we are,” he says carefully. “He doesn’t get along very well with other people, but it’s never really been an issue between us.” Marco smiles widely, leaning closer. “You know, he’s already getting along better with you than he does with most people.”

Jean flushes at that, but the look he gives Marco is distinctly sour. “We’ve barely interacted.”

Marco bites his lip, wondering if he’s pushed too hard. “I suppose not, no. I can tell he doesn’t dislike you, though.” Jean blinks at him, raising his eyebrows just slightly, so Marco smiles again, more encouraging this time. “I know he’s prickly now, but just give him time. I think you’d like him once he lets you in a little. He’s just... cautious.” 

With a hum, Jean looks down at his plate, those thinking gears spinning again. Marco leaves him to it, choosing instead to sweep up their dishes before Jean can, moving to the sink and rolling his sleeves up. 

Jean sputters after him. “I can just—”

“I know,” Marco says soothingly, smiling at him over his shoulder. “But you’ve done everything so far. Let me help.”

Marco gives him a moment, but Jean can’t really come up with a good rebuttal, so he cheerfully turns to the sink and sets to work. 

\--

“Have you made much progress with your rock?” Marco asks a while later, over some fresh evening coffee.

Jean blinks up at him, then irritably frowns into his own coffee. “No,” he mumbles, sounding extremely reluctant. “Clearly what I was doing before wasn’t working, so I’m back at square one.” 

They’re still in the kitchen, waiting for Eren to come back so Jean can set his wards again. Jean’s very clearly getting restless too, his own fidgeting a more subtle mirror image to Eren’s. 

Marco hums sympathetically. “Would you like to talk about it? Or would you rather figure it out on your own?”

The wizard drags a hand through his hair. “Ideally, I’d’ve figured that shit out months ago, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m even on the right track.” He grumbles again, then drains his coffee. “I should probably ask my mentor for help, but...” He trails off, and after a long moment, wilts slightly, closing his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Recognizing pride when he sees it, Marco leans closer and offers, “If you’re not opposed to some teamwork, I enjoy puzzles from time to time.” When Jean blinks his eyes open again, Marco smiles soothingly. “I won’t steal it, promise. It’s just helpful to have a second set of eyes sometimes.”

What Marco doesn’t mention is that he’s in distinct danger of becoming bored, which sits about as well with him as idleness does with Eren. 

Jean contemplates him for a moment, but before he can respond, familiar footsteps thunder down the stairs.

The wizard tenses, but Marco just idly sips his coffee as Eren wanders into the kitchen, dripping slightly from the pouring rain. He shakes some of the water out of his hair, then grumbles, “You need to get your windows fixed. They’re fucking impossible to open.”

The flat look the wizard gives him speaks volumes. “Maybe I like them that way,” he says drily, at which Eren just shrugs. Jean huffs, but stands and moves to lock the door again, warding it as he goes. 

“What are you so damn interested in keeping out?” Eren asks bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Jean freezes slightly, then glowers at Eren over his shoulder. “I _told_ you, it’s a habit I picked up. Old habits die hard?” He finishes his work, then stomps right over to Eren, poking him in the chest. “Maybe I’ll be interested in keeping you out, huh? Think you can jimmy a window open when it’s got four different arcane locks on it?” 

“Yeah,” Eren replies easily, raising a thick eyebrow at him. He bats Jean’s hand away from his chest, then crosses his arms again.

“Oh, bullshit—”

Marco stands then, putting a soothing hand on each of their shoulders. He smiles disarmingly, at which Eren relaxes slightly, then says, “Jean, I’d be happy to help you with your riddle, if you’ll have me.”

Jean stares up at him for a moment, then huffs quietly and moves past them, into the dark hallway and around the side of the stairs. He opens the door to the basement steps, then calls, “It’s in my lab. And _don’t_ track mud down here!”

Clicking his tongue, Eren runs a hand through his hair, his dripping bangs slicking back against his head. Marco smiles at him, then moves in closer and presses a warm kiss to his chilled cheek. 

“Welcome back,” he murmurs, punctuating it with another kiss, at which Eren melts entirely. He’s stubborn, though, so he keeps sulking even as he wraps an arm around Marco’s waist, tugging him close enough that he can catch his lips. 

Before long, Eren hums, “’M gonna change. Go keep our witch busy.”

Marco smiles widely, tilting Eren’s lips up for more kisses. “Come down when you’re done. His lab is kind of cool.” 

Eren snorts at that. “Academics never like having me in their space.”

“Sure sounded to me like he invited you.” Marco pulls away, affectionately brushing his knuckles down Eren’s cheek, soothing his dubious expression. “Go on, you’re dripping.”

Eren grumbles, but nods, turning on his heel and taking the stairs quickly.

Marco wastes no time heading downstairs. The lab looks roughly the same as it had earlier, except that the little ash piles scattered around the sigil are gone now, presumably swept up. It’s unusual, though, that the paint the circle is drawn in hadn’t also been consumed. It doesn’t seem as active as it had earlier, the enchanted mirage having dissipated, but Marco can still feel the faint power emanating from it. 

Sitting at his desk, Jean glances up at Marco as he comes in, then rests his chin in his hand and pokes at the rock. At the moment, he seems to be using it as a paperweight. Marco tries not to snicker at the sight. 

“I’ll admit,” Jean says, keeping his gaze on the rock’s lumpy surface. “I didn’t really have a lot to go on to begin with. The guy I got it from didn’t know shit about it.” 

Marco comes to lean against the side of the desk, tilting his head and looking at it too. “Did he have a plan?”

Jean shrugs. “He died before I could get anything out of him. I think he came from the mountains in the east, headed toward Neverwinter. Probably looking for some famous artificer or another, I don’t know.” 

“Neverwinter’s what, three or four days from here yet?” Marco asks. “He must’ve had some decent information to make a journey like that in this rain.” 

The wizard shrugs again, but more furtively this time, pointedly avoiding eye contact. Marco decides not to pry, though, instead crossing his arms and redirecting his attention. “So were you just lighting it on fire out of curiosity, then?”

Jean grumbles at that, giving Marco a dirty look, so he raises his hands in surrender. He slumps back in his chair, then murmurs, “It’s what I’m good at.”

“Okay,” Marco says, hoping to soothe him. 

His sharp ears pick up the faint sound of Eren slipping down the stairs, stealthy as a cat when he wants to be. Jean hears it too, though, and both of them turn to find the man sitting on the bottom stair, looking a little grouchy to have been caught. He mumbles something about ‘damn elf ears,’ waving them off, so Marco chalks it up to him being shy and turns back to Jean. 

“I wasn’t doubting your methods,” he says carefully, “I was just curious about the train of thought behind them.”

Jean purses his lips, but relaxes anyway. He tilts his head, considering the rock for a long moment, before reaching back and pulling a battered book off the shelf behind him without looking. He flips just as casually to a page marked by a heavily frayed ribbon, then drops it on the desk between them.

Nervousness coils in Marco’s stomach as he stares at it for a long moment. Probably too long.

“How... did you get this?”

The wizard shrugs, crossing his arms again. “Same way I get anything else I want. Determination.”

Marco nods vaguely, then glances at the book between them.

It’s an old, decrepit-looking tome, its loose pages not bound very well. The edges of the pages are rough and uneven, yellowed with time and ink-stained, and it absolutely reeks of sulfur. 

What worries Marco, though, is that the page Jean had so casually flipped to is written entirely in Infernal. 

It looks rather a lot like a wizard’s heavily used spellbook. The penmanship speaks of someone scribing their native language, which could mean any number of things. Marco scans the page, then squints, trying to parse the archaic grammar. 

The page details an old imprisonment technique meant for objects of great power. It describes the magic of pulling liquid earth from the deep and molding it, gathering strength from its raw, unwavering density, and the slow, delicate process of cooling it in water from the untamed underground seas. Through this process, the magics of earth and water bind together and create hundreds of intricate locks hidden in the prison’s surface.

“This is incredible,” Marco murmurs, his fingers hovering over the page. He doesn’t dare touch it, though. “And it sounds about right for what you’ve got there, yes.”

“That’s what I thought,” Jean grumbles. “Since earth and sea combine to lock it, it only makes sense that fire would unlock it, right?” 

Marco frowns at that, squinting closer at the page. “Not just fire.”

There’s a long silence.

Just as it’s starting to get awkward, Jean looks up at Marco and croaks, “What.” 

Blinking widely, Marco points to a passage near the bottom of the page. “Says right here. Roughly, um... ‘A union of two elements withstands all forces but the opposite and equal union of the others.’” Marco bites his lip nervously. “G-give or take.”

Jean’s still gaping at him, staring like he’s seeing him for the first time. He snaps himself out of it, though, and snatches the book up again, squinting at the passage in question and mumbling under his breath. He reads over it a few times until finally something clicks, at which point he groans loudly and drops the book on his desk so he can drag his hands down his face.

“I fucking.” Jean scrubs his face again, then drops his hands, looking entirely demotivated. “I fucking mistranslated it. I thought—fuck, never mind, it doesn’t even make sense anymore.”

Marco smiles at him, but he’s not entirely sure how to go about comforting a wizard having a mild academic meltdown. 

Jean sighs heavily, leaning his head back against his chair and closing his eyes, before finally seething, “_Air._”

\--

“I have to go back to Neverwinter,” Jean says after a while of loud, irritated thinking and cursing. He drags a hand through his short hair, then turns toward Eren and Marco, who have both been sitting quietly at the bottom of the stairs while he processes. “Tomorrow, probably.” 

Eren squints at him. “What do you mean, ‘back’ to Neverwinter?”

“Where do you think I got all that food? Sure wasn’t from around here.” At Eren’s and Marco’s blank looks, Jean huffs, then points to the sigil on the floor. “That goes to Neverwinter.”

Marco blinks widely, then stands and moves closer. “Is that... a permanent teleportation circle?”

“Yes. It doesn’t always behave, but. It lands me in the same place nearly every time.”

“So you ward every door in your entire damn house,” Eren says, one thick eyebrow arched critically, “But you have a direct portal into your basement from somewhere in the most populated city on the Sword Coast?”

Jean gives him a dirty look. “If you think my wards here are heavy, you should see the ones on the other end of that circle.” Eren just shrugs, seemingly willing to take his word for it. 

“What’s in Neverwinter?” Marco asks, tilting his head curiously. “Other than, you know. Everything.”

“My old mentor.” With a sigh, Jean moves back to his desk and collapses into the chair again, staring morosely at the rock. “And he should have a pretty good idea of where I can find a wizard that specializes in air magic, whatever the hell that means.” 

Marco wonders then if Jean knows many spells that aren’t fire-based. He’s tempted to say no, just based on what he knows of him so far, but he also knows better than to ask. 

Jean looks up at him, his expression thoughtful. “Do you want to come with me?”

Marco’s eyebrows shoot up. He turns and looks at Eren, whose face is carefully neutral, but he knows him well enough to recognize his anxiety. Taking that into consideration, Marco turns back to Jean, his teeth catching his lip. “I don’t know.” 

“It’s pretty safe these days,” Jean says. “I know what areas to avoid, and there’s all kinds of folks living there now.” He licks his lips, pondering something for a moment before continuing, “Lots of different religions, too. I’ve seen Beshaba’s flock there before. No one really bothers them much, as long as they’re not up to anything.”

Before he can stop himself, Marco wrinkles his nose in distaste. He schools his expression back to something more neutral, but there’s no way Jean didn’t pick up on it. 

Marco clears his throat awkwardly, then says, “We’d probably still have to be careful. Besides, neither of us have been in a city proper since, oh... Caer Westphal a few years ago, maybe?”

Behind him, Eren snorts loudly. “Don’t think that counts. More lion’s den than city.”

“Okay, well, further back than that, then.” Marco crosses his arms and leans his hip against Jean’s desk. “We crossed the Sea of Swords by boat and were supposed to dock in Neverwinter, but with the storms, it ended up crashing a ways south, so we just never went.”

“Probably better off,” Eren says gruffly. 

Jean looks Eren over for a moment, watching him idly toy with a small dagger, before he blinks back up at Marco. “Well, if you don’t want to, I won’t force you to.” He gives Marco a wide, knowing smile, though, which makes him just a little nervous. “I think you’d like my mentor’s shop, though. He deals in, uh. ‘Curiosities.’”

Marco can _feel_ his ears perking up. Jean has him absolutely pinned, and everyone in the room knows it. If books are Jean’s weakness, shiny magical trinkets are Marco’s, and the last time he so much as looked in the window of a magical oddities shop was years ago at this point.

“We’ll go,” Eren says casually. Marco gives him a nervous glance, his teeth digging into his lip, but Eren just gives him a crooked grin. “It’ll be fine. Besides, I know you wanna go out as much as I do, you’re just better at hiding it.”

With a huff, Marco turns back to Jean, his cheeks warm, probably flushed. “What time?” 

Jean’s smile widens victoriously.

\--

The next morning, Marco and Eren stand aside while Jean prepares the circle, painting over small, contained sigils around the edges with shimmering ink, murmuring under his breath. As he finishes each sigil, he places their other components inside them: a long, white feather in one, a chunk of coal in another, a small pile of gold dust in the next. 

Eren watches him work for a few minutes, then asks, “Isn’t the point of the permanent circle that the portal never closes?”

Jean glances at him out of the corner of his eye, then pointedly continues his work. Once he finishes painting this sigil, he places what looks like a large, dead beetle in the center, then sits upright and cracks his back before pursing his lips at Eren. “That would be incredibly stupid.” Eren blinks at him, then frowns deeply, but before he can argue, Jean continues, “These portals give off an insane amount of arcane energy. If I left it open all the time, who knows what would be drawn to it?”

“How does it work, then?” Marco asks before he can stop himself. Jean glances up at him, his expression softening just a little. “The ink is all supposed to be consumed, isn’t it? But you’re only painting parts of it.” 

Jean shrugs, reaching for another ink pot and scooting to the last circle. “I figured out an in-between,” he says quietly. “This way I get the distance of the permanent circle without having to leave it open, but without most of the expensive reagents.” He bends closer to his work, trying to hide the light flush crossing his face. “It’s not exactly an approved technique, but I figure if it was gonna be a problem, the Order would’ve cracked down on it by now.”

Before either Marco or Eren can ask more questions, Jean finishes what he’s doing with a flourish, then caps his ink pot and sets it aside. The final component is a tiny mouse skull, which he gently places in the center. He stands and brushes his hands off, then reaches out over the circle, and with a few words, the freshly painted sigils begin to glow.

Jean flexes his fingers, curling them into fists, and when he spreads them again, the sigils and their materials erupt into tiny wildfires, spreading rapidly around old and new painted lines and lighting the whole circle aflame. 

Once every line is flickering and snapping, Jean fists his hands again, then sharply pulls them upward. The dancing flames mimic the action, rising alarmingly high and sparking with energy. They only live for a moment, though; once they’ve burned through the materials, they sputter out entirely, and through the faint smoke, Marco can see a hazy vision of somewhere else. 

“Come on,” Jean urges, grabbing his cloak and jumping into the smoke.

Not wanting to be left behind, Marco and Eren exchange brief glances, then follow Jean through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a [twittr](https://twitter.com/gaarbage)


	4. Identify

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jean learns a thing or two, but so does everyone else.

The other side of the portal is a dingy, clearly abandoned basement.

There are dusty cobwebs everywhere, pieces of broken furniture shuffled into the corners, and not a spark of light to illuminate any of it. Fortunately, the lack of light isn’t an issue for anyone present. 

Marco looks behind himself at the portal, the faint image of Jean’s basement wavering before blinking back out of existence. He glances down at the floor, noting the corresponding circle painted in black across the splintered floorboards, then turns back to Jean, who’s casually fastening his cloak. 

“Nice place,” Eren says drily, pulling his hood up over his head.

“Oh, shut up,” Jean grumbles. He turns to the only door in the room and gets to work dispelling a whole host of wards. Once he’s done, he grabs the handle and uses all of his weight to pull the heavy wood out of the slanted, now ill-fitting doorway. 

He leads them up a set of crooked stairs, then out into a narrow living space that’s in about the same condition as the basement. The floor to the upper floor had fallen through at some point ages ago, and wide holes in the moldering roof do nothing to prevent the misting rain from falling in. If the rains keep up, the floor will most likely collapse into the basement soon, but Marco’s sure Jean knows that. 

“There’s a jump,” Jean says as he turns to face them again. “I don’t really know what happens if you fall off, so.” He nibbles on his lip, but doesn’t say anything else, choosing instead to turn on his heel and head toward the front door. 

Once he’s dispelled this door too, he swings it open, and suddenly Marco understands what he’d meant.

A good many years ago, a cataclysm destroyed much of the city, caused by the unnatural eruption of a nearby volcano. The rift it caused is deep and wide, and so aggressively magical that those who remained decided it’d be better to just leave it to fester. 

Now, an entire quarter of the city lies in ruins, sequestered away behind tall, thick walls that almost seem like they could touch the clouds. 

The door that Jean opens leads right out onto the edge of the rift, which might explain the house’s severe leaning. Huge chunks of the cobbled street have separated from the scarred edge and now float idly nearby, some small and frantic, others the size of entire city blocks drifting lazily over the chasm. There’s just enough crumbling street outside the door for Marco to stand on, and he’d be lying if he said his heart hadn’t started pounding in his chest.

“Don’t look down,” Jean says grimly, before turning and gracefully leaping onto an earthmote floating nearby. It’s an easy enough jump, so Marco exhales slowly, then jumps up after him, keenly aware of Eren’s concerned gaze behind him. 

With Jean’s guidance, they make their way up to a more stable area a little ways away from the rift. 

As Marco’s hauling himself up onto the street, he wheezes, “Did you make these jumps with all those bags?” 

“Gravity’s weird here.” Jean digs his timepiece out of his pocket, then holds it out and lets it go. It doesn’t fall, though; it just floats there, its short chain hovering serenely. “Living creatures aren’t too affected by it, but constructs and enchanted items just. Float. So I enchanted the bags to make life a little easier.”

Marco raises an eyebrow. That means, then, that Jean was likely as out of breath as he was just lugging all those bags through the portal and to the bottom of his basement stairs. 

Seeming to follow Marco’s train of thought, Jean flushes and snatches his timepiece out of the air, turning quickly and heading down the street. 

The further they get from the rift, the more normal things feel. The weight of the awful, twisted magic curdling at the bottom of the chasm seems to float away, as does the ringing in Marco’s ears. Most of the area still lies in ruins, though, so he figures they’re probably not out of the woods just yet. 

Jean leads them down long streets and through alleys cluttered with debris until they finally hit one of the terrifyingly massive walls forming the border. He sneaks along the edge, then feels around an unassuming cluster of large bricks until he finds one that he can pull out. He glances over his shoulder at them, then reaches into the gap, sliding his arm all the way in, until his cheek is pressed up against the rain-slick wall. 

There’s a faint snap, and a quick wave of magic that sets Marco’s hair on end for just a moment, before the wall to their left wavers, then fades away, revealing a carefully-carved gap through the wall.

“Move quickly,” Jean murmurs, pulling his arm out. He replaces the brick, then ducks and darts through the hole, clambering through to the other side like he’s being chased. 

When Marco looks back at Eren, his companion is clearly on edge, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. Marco reaches over and squeezes his shoulder briefly, trying for a reassuring smile, before turning and dropping onto all fours. He tilts his head down to make sure his antlers make it through, then starts crawling forward.

With the angle his head’s tilted at, Marco can’t help but notice that the wall is hollow.

He squints into the vacant blackness, but before he can look further, Jean reaches through and manhandles him out. He loses his balance, leaving himself and Marco both sprawled across some drenched grass.

Marco leans up on his hands over him, already going to apologize, but the wizard’s pale, anxious face gives him pause.

“Don’t _linger,_” Jean spits, trying to mask his fear with anger. It doesn’t quite work, but Marco decides against asking. He looks down at Jean for a long moment, then shifts aside and turns back to the gap in the wall, where Eren’s just pulling himself through. 

“I’m guessing something lives in there,” he grouses, pulling himself to his feet. 

Rather than answer, Jean swallows heavily before standing as well, brushing himself off as best he can. He glances over at the wall, and as they watch, the illusion hiding the gap shimmers back into place, blending in seamlessly with the rest of the wall. 

Eren reaches down and offers Marco his hand, hauling him to his feet. He brushes his hands over him, worriedly looking him over, same as he always does when he’s anxious about where Marco’s been.

“My mentor’s shop is a ways from here yet,” Jean says finally, adjusting his cloak awkwardly. 

Eren glowers over at him. “So you’re just ignoring my question, then?” 

Jean blinks widely, then frowns. “Yes?”

With a derisive snort, Eren shakes his head, then gives Marco one last subtle once-over before deciding that he’s content with the state of him. He turns and looks around for side paths he can take, scouting the area for ways up to higher vantage points that he can safely tail them from, but before he can move away, Jean huffs, “Don’t skulk, either.” Eren stares at him, so he clarifies, “People around here are pretty damn sensitive to that sort of thing, and don’t take kindly to it. Just... stay close. And don’t make eye contact.” 

Jean turns and slips into a nearby alley, glancing over his shoulder and tilting his head pointedly. Eren gapes at him for a moment longer, then grumbles under his breath and pulls his scarf up over his nose. He drags his hood down further, obscuring himself as much as possible before following Jean down the alley.

It’s been years since they’ve been in a city, but many more years than that since Eren just... walked down a street. Marco sighs, then follows them, hoping it doesn’t get to Eren too badly. 

\--

The walk isn’t that long, but with the way prying eyes feel, it seems like a lifetime. Marco tries not to be hyper-aware of people staring at him. Unfortunately, his antlers are pretty damn obvious, even in the rainy gloom. He does his best to keep his eyes down and walks quickly after Jean. As instructed, Eren stays with them, his shoulder brushing Marco’s, his bristling, defensive energy palpable. 

By the time Jean leads them into the shop, Marco’s about exhausted just by the proximity of other humanoids. The shop is blessedly empty of customers, though, and the air is heavy with the tingling feeling of hundreds of different enchantments. 

“What the fuck happened to your hair,” someone snaps from behind the counter, earning a squeak from Jean. 

Marco and Eren turn toward the counter, behind which an incredibly grouchy-looking man is slouched in a cushy armchair. He doesn’t seem to notice the two of them, his keen, dark eyes fixed instead on Jean.

His face glowing bright red, Jean grumbles, “I really don’t wanna talk about it.”

The man studies him for a moment longer, then barks a short, harsh laugh. “You lit it on fire, didn’t you.”

Jean makes an outraged noise at that. Marco looks at him curiously, as does Eren, and the sudden attention seems to set Jean off. He fists his hands tight, glaring at the floor as he flushes darker, and just as sparks start to flicker between his knuckles, the man stands up and slams his hands on the counter.

“Calm down.”

Honestly, Marco would’ve expected the words to just piss Jean off more, despite the man’s steady tone. 

Rather than explode, though, Jean closes his eyes and breathes a long sigh, unclenching his fists and shaking them out slightly. It’s clearly a practiced technique for him; he gets himself under control again quickly, the air around them cooling down noticeably. 

“Good job,” the man murmurs, the praise only slightly begrudging. “What do you want? If it’s about your hair—”

“It’s not the hair!” Jean bleats, glaring at the man. “Fuck off about the hair, okay?”

The man crosses his arms and quirks an eyebrow at him, but lays off. 

Jean grumbles, then turns to Marco and Eren and says, “This is my mentor, Levi. He’s a huge asshole.” Levi barely blinks, seemingly unbothered by Jean’s description of him. Jean gestures to the two of them next. “These are, uh. My guests. The pointy one is Marco, and the mean one is Eren.”

“Wow,” Eren huffs, while Marco just awkwardly smiles and waves. 

Levi glances them over, his eyes barely hovering on Marco’s antlers before they flick back to Jean. “I don’t want them,” he says shortly. 

Jean squints at him, his hands spread in annoyance. “Well, good? Because you can’t have them.” He drags a hand through his hair, then gets right to the point. “Do you know anyone who specializes in air magic?”

The man’s brow furrows slightly. “Why?”

“Um.” Jean clears his throat, his furtiveness not subtle in the least. “I’m just curious about it?”

“Yeah, okay,” Levi snorts. “You know that actual specialization is weird as hell, right?”

Jean grits his teeth, turning away from Eren and Marco. Marco can easily see that his pointed ears are flushed red, though. “You know what I mean, Levi.”

Rather than push his point, Levi throws Eren and Marco a brief glance, then shrugs and blinks back at Jean. “That Reiss girl.”

“Historia?” Jean tilts his head curiously. “I thought she went conjuration.” 

“She did.” Levi levels Jean with an extraordinarily unimpressed stare. “I know your memory isn’t this shitty. Are you really going to make me repeat myself?” Jean crosses his arms and looks away, still avoiding the entire side of the shop Eren and Marco are on. Levi closes his eyes briefly, but that’s about the extent of his visible frustration. “Air magic isn’t about elemental evocation, it’s about _control._ It’s a useful skill for a conjurer to master, and one you could probably use a few lessons in.”

“Okay, yeah, it’s coming back to me,” Jean mumbles, digging the toe of his boot into the clean wood floor. “Where does she work now?”

Rather than respond, Levi uncrosses his arms and strides out from behind the counter, then up a narrow set of stairs tucked into a corner, and Jean follows him without hesitation. Marco considers trailing after them, but the chance to look at the shop’s wares unsupervised wins out. 

As one might expect, most of the things in the shop are sealed away in glass display cases. They aren’t so carefully sealed that Marco can’t feel the magic wafting off of them, though. 

All of the books are confined to shelves behind the counter. Some of them seem to writhe in place, contained by an unseen ward. There are a few jars on those shelves, too, including one that’s just about covered in living butterflies. They rest serenely on the clear glass, their wings lazily fluttering open and closed in waves, occasional gaps between them revealing the barest glimpse of something sparkling inside. 

Marco observes them for a moment, then turns to his left, looking into a long case under the foggy window filled with rings and small crystals. The case hums with chaotic energy, the auras of each item flowing into each other. They seem to be arrayed in a way that allows their magics to coincide relatively peacefully, rather than clashing against each other. 

The thing that catches Marco’s eye, oddly, is a little glass sphere in the back corner of one of the cases. It’s small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, set in a humble wooden base, and inside there are dark, swirling rainclouds pouring miniscule droplets into a tiny pool collecting at the bottom. 

The card under the sphere reads, in hastily scratched Common, ‘predicts coming weather.’ 

With a glance out the window, into the ever-present miserable drizzle, Marco has to breathe a soft laugh.

Eren makes a curious sound and comes to stand beside him, so Marco stands up straight and points at it. “Probably not the most useful these days, huh.” The comment earns a snort from his companion, but for whatever reason, Marco can’t stop staring at the stormy glass ball, his teeth finding his lip. “I wonder,” he murmurs, “If one day someone will give that little thing a shake and find sunlight instead.” 

Marco can feel Eren looking at him, so he gives him what he hopes is a cheerful smile, then turns to one of the other cases. “Hey, come look at this weird monkey thing!”

\--

“Historia’s lab isn’t far from here,” Jean mumbles, pulling his hood back up as he jogs down the stairs and right out of the shop. Marco carefully puts the strange spoon he’d been looking at back on its shelf and hurries after him.

“And what were you hoping to learn from this person again?” Eren asks, sharp eyes scanning up and down the rainy street before settling on Jean again. 

The wizard shrugs and pulls his cloak tighter around himself. “I don’t know. Something clever.” 

He bites his lip, but before he can continue, the door to Levi’s shop flies open. 

As they turn toward him, Levi strides out into the rain, then right up to Eren, who shuffles back a little to put room between them. Unfazed, the man holds his hand out and pushes a few gold coins against Eren’s chest. 

“Um,” is all Eren can say, and Marco can’t blame him.

The explanation Levi gives isn’t in Common. Marco can’t quite translate what he’s saying, but he knows Illuskan well enough when he hears it. Eren’s eyes widen, either at what Levi’s saying or just the surprise of hearing his native tongue so far from home. After a moment, he relaxes slightly and takes the coins from Levi, mumbling something in response. 

Whatever he’d said, Levi seems satisfied. He turns on his heel and walks back into his shop, closing the door behind himself without another word. 

Marco blinks widely, then turns to his companion, who’s starting to flush red, and not from the chilly air. Eren busies himself with putting the gold in his coin purse, avoiding eye contact, and as curious as he is, Marco decides not to push right now. 

Instead, he turns to Jean and smiles. “Shall we?”

Jean glances between both of them, then just shrugs and turns to walk down the street, hopping over the veritable river running through the gutters. 

\--

Jean leads them through the city, over a bridge and down narrow, crooked streets overshadowed by haphazard human architecture. The houses here are crammed close together like Jean’s town, but with decks and roofs and even whole rooms just nailed onto them above street level, obscuring the cloudy sky like chaotic treetops. 

He comes to a stop in front of one such house, which looks a lot like the second floor had been built before the first, and neither of them terribly well. Undeterred, Jean walks up the slanted stairs and knocks on the front door, wrapping his cloak around himself again. 

Marco isn’t sure what he’d expected to find here, but the tiny blonde elf that opens the door, then beams up at Jean wasn’t exactly it. 

“Jean! It’s been an age!” she chirps, holding her arms out to him. 

He smiles fondly, then bends to give her a short, one-armed hug in return. “Nice to see you, Historia.” 

“Come in, come in.” She leans over the railing and smiles down at where Eren and Marco are still loitering on the street. “Your guests, too.” 

Eren and Marco glance at each other, then head up the stairs and into the house. 

The main room on this floor seems to be Historia’s work space. It looks similar to Jean’s, but with much better lighting, and less werewolf scratches on the staircase leading up to the second floor. She has just as many books as Jean does, though, if not more, although hers are neatly contained to the shelves that line the walls, leaving barely any room for the narrow windows. 

Before Marco can look around much, Historia closes the door behind them, then gently places her hand on his forearm. “I don’t mean to alarm you,” she says softly. He blinks widely at her, unable to help the nervous twitch of his arm. “But my wife will try to talk to you. I promise Ymir’s harmless. Just rude.” 

Marco stares at her some more, but she doesn’t seem to be expecting a response. She just smiles widely and pats his arm, then turns and moves to her desk. “So, Jean, what can I help you with?” 

Jean clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck as he approaches her desk. “You, uh, know a lot about air magic, right?”

Historia tilts her head, clearly curious. “I’ve learned a few useful evocations here and there, yes. Is there something specific about air you need?”

Marco had kind of expected Jean to be blunt about this, but to his surprise, the wizard squirms slightly, mulling his words over. “Levi thinks that I could benefit from, um, expanding my repertoire.” It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s pretty far from the truth. 

Based on the flat look Historia’s giving him, Marco guesses she sees right through him too. “And you’re just now, after about a century, deciding to listen to him?”

Jean makes a flustered sound, fiddling with the seam of his cloak before finally unfastening it and throwing it over the back of a chair. He takes a moment to compose himself again, but whatever reasoning he gives Historia escapes Marco’s notice, mostly due to the long, lanky tiefling that all but drips from the upstairs landing to the floor in front of him. 

Her black horns are short and sharp, her dark hair pulled into a low, messy ponytail, and the smirk painted across her freckled face is just about as catlike as the rest of her. “Well, now,” she purrs, her Common heavily accented with brash, rough tones unique to Infernal. Without pause, she reaches a hand out to drag a narrow finger along one of Marco’s antlers. “What happened here?” 

Marco sucks on his lips, doing his best not to flinch away from her. “Ymir, I presume?”

“Ooh, my reputation precedes me.” She crosses her arms lazily, then blinks her dark eyes over at Eren, who’s already scowling protectively. “No need to glare at me like that, I’m not going to steal him.” She grins back at Marco, her thin lips parting to reveal sharp teeth. “So? What’s the story?”

Unused to such straightforward questioning, Marco finds himself fidgeting slightly. “They’re, uh. A sign of my devotion to my—”

“Oh, please,” she interrupts, waving him off. “Those look painful, uldilvyr. I know the feeling.” 

Marco raises his eyebrows at the word she’d chosen to address him. He’s met one or two tieflings not native to the mortal planes before, so it’s not the first time he’s been called ‘inlander.’ It is, however, the first time the word hasn’t felt like an insult. 

Before he can respond or ask questions, she rolls her loose sleeves up and shows him the insides of her forearms. 

The smooth, grey skin of her forearms is heavily marred by pink branding scars, sharp Infernal characters denoting her status as a prisoner of the Outer Planes. Laid over the brands, though, are a series of delicate black tattoos, sigils wrapped between and around the scars, clearly meant to contain their influence. 

After a moment, Ymir spreads her arms, then crosses them again, giving Marco a wry smile. “I know what it feels like to be trapped.” 

Marco bites his lip, but before he can come up with any kind of response, an angry pulse shoots down his antlers and into his skull, resonating and threatening to become a splitting headache. Always listening. He grinds his teeth, then smiles tightly in return. 

“I’m not familiar,” he grits out. The headache throbs, then recedes, his patron seemingly satisfied with his feeble show of piety. For now, anyway.

Ymir raises her eyebrows briefly before her expression falls carefully neutral. “I see. My mistake.”

“Ymir, be nice,” Historia calls from the corner, where she’s standing precariously on her chair, trying to reach a book on the top shelf. Jean, meanwhile, is thoroughly involved in another book, his elbows leaned on the desk as he studies the page in front of him. Marco purses his lips slightly, then looks back up at Historia, mostly to keep his mind from wandering.

Just as Historia’s starting to tilt dangerously, reaching too far up, Ymir flits across the room to her side, resting her hands on Historia’s dainty waist to steady her. With Ymir’s support, Historia manages to reach the book she’d wanted, and once she has it, she lets her wife lift her off the chair and set her back on the floor with a bright, grateful smile. 

As she sets the book on the desk, Historia aims that pretty smile at Eren and Marco. “You might want to get comfortable, this can take a while.” 

\--

Marco had honestly expected the process of learning a new spell or two to be a lot more boring than it is.

Wizards have a wide variety of reputations based on specializations, but the common factor amongst them all is that they’re the definition of bookworms. No matter what the subject, wizards have four books and a half-finished research text on it, even for relatively mundane things like Dancing Lights. They have a habit of poking into every little facet of their magic just to see how it works. 

With that in mind, Marco had expected Jean’s research to be just that: companionable silence, piles of books, open journals.

What he gets instead is a front row seat to Historia handing Jean his entire ass.

Eren, Marco, and Ymir all wince as Jean hits the ground for what must be the fourth time, blown aside like a leaf in the wind by Historia’s simple Gust. 

“Oh, come on, Jean,” she says, grinning widely as she comes to help him back to his feet, unconcerned for his grumbling. “You were much better at this when we were students!”

“I’m pretty sure you were just worse,” he huffs. 

Historia just laughs at that. Despite his obvious grumpiness, Jean gives her a small, crooked smile as he takes his position again. 

“Again.” 

With a smile, Historia nods, then moves to stand a few feet away from him again. “You’re thinking with too much fire, you know that? Chaos doesn’t work well with air magic. You can’t control fire, all you can do is ride it out and hope it works in your favor.”

Jean huffs and crosses his arms. “Speak for yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” Historia puts her hands on her hips and gives him a teasing smirk. “Then why are you here?”

Before Jean can compose a response, Historia is already moving. She sweeps her hand through the air in front of her in a now-familiar motion and cheerfully shouts, “_Keth na’z’ress_!” and just as before, a brief but powerful howl of wind blasts through the room and knocks Jean clean off his feet.

“Okay,” he groans from the floor, slinging one arm over his eyes. “Now you’re just fucking cheating.”

“Girl’s gotta find her fun somewhere,” Historia chirps, still grinning as she crosses to help him up again. 

“Gods,” Ymir sighs dreamily from where she’s sitting beside Marco, somehow taking up half of the couch by herself. “She’s so perfect.” She turns to him, then points to Historia and says, “That’s my wife.”

“So you’ve mentioned,” Marco chuckles. On his other side, Eren just snorts, then flicks his eyes back to where Jean and Historia are setting up again. 

Before they start, Ymir stands up and saunters over to Historia with a crooked, flirtatious smile. “Well, as much fun as it is to watch my beautiful wife sweep the floor with this scrawny witch-boy, I need to go pick up some things for dinner tonight.” Historia beams up at Ymir, then presents her cheek for a kiss, which Ymir happily provides her. 

“Be safe.” 

“Always.” Ymir lovingly drags her knuckles down Historia’s cheek, then turns and walks right out the door like it’s not pouring freezing rain outside. 

Historia sighs fondly before turning back to Jean. “Again?”

Jean shakes his arms out and braces his feet, looking determined. “Again.” 

While they’re working, Marco turns to look at Eren, who’s still watching them closely. He’s idly biting his thumbnail, too, and his leg is bouncing slightly, neither of which are terribly unusual for Eren. He doesn’t deal well with idleness. 

“You’ve been quiet today,” Marco says softly. When Eren blinks over at him, he smiles soothingly and lightly runs his palm down Eren’s thigh to his knee. “You alright?”

Eren shrugs, covering Marco’s hand with one of his own. “As alright as I can be around this many people.” 

Marco tilts his head, turning on the couch to face him properly. “Should we leave?”

“Can’t,” Eren replies gruffly. He squeezes Marco’s hand gently, then subtly laces their fingers with a slight smile. “It’s okay. I want him to get what he came for.”

From the middle of the room, Historia casts the spell again, but this time, Jean manages to brace his feet against it, holding his hands up and focusing hard. It still pushes him back slightly, but he stays upright, which is definite progress.

Historia bounces in place, clapping excitedly, while Jean blinks wide, surprised eyes at his own hands. 

“See, Jean, it’s easy! I knew you could do it!”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, although he doesn’t sound entirely convinced. 

Still smiling widely, Historia pulls a small timepiece out of her dress pocket and glances at it, seemingly satisfied with their pace. “You’ve always been a quick study. Let’s take a break for a bit, then we can start your turn.” 

Jean raises his eyebrows at her. “You’re going to let me toss you around?”

Historia laughs at that, waving one of her hands. “It’d take much more time than either of us have for you to do that. I’ll go grab something for you to practice on, though.” Before Jean can even start sulking, she turns and jogs up the stairs, leaving the three of them alone. 

With a long sigh, Jean comes and collapses on the couch beside Marco, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. After a moment, he mumbles, “I kinda forgot how ruthless she is.”

Marco chuckles warmly, gently squeezing Eren’s fingers as he turns to look at Jean. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting this trip to result in so many bruises.” 

“Yeah, well. It happens.”

Eren leans forward onto one of his knees, mostly so he can see Jean better. “Why exactly is she beating your ass? I thought you nerds cast spells from books.”

Jean purses his lips slightly, then sits up and turns to face them both. “Kind of? It’s not usually that simple. We have spellbooks, yes, but they’re not really the source of our ability to cast spells. They’re just part of the process.”

“Process?”

Humming affirmatively, Jean pulls himself to his feet and crosses to the chair near Historia’s desk where his cloak is. He digs his spellbook out of the lined inner pocket, then comes back to sit on the couch, resting his book on his knee. “Wizards are kind of weird compared to most other spellcasters,” he starts. “While others keep their knowledge inside themselves, wizards don’t. Our knowledge is confined to our books. If we lose them, we lose most of our knowledge.” 

“Seems like a bad idea,” Eren mumbles, ever blunt. “What do you do if someone steals it? Or if it’s destroyed, or just lost?” 

Jean shrugs, idly playing with the frayed ribbon poking out between the pages. “If we don’t have another copy hidden somewhere? We pretty much start over. It sucks.”

Marco thinks then of Jean’s panic when he first awoke in their company, frantically searching for his book, and feels a distinct twinge of guilt. 

Before he can think on it much further, Jean looks up at them and shrugs again. “The book isn’t the only important part of what we do. Sure, it’s vital, but it’s only half of the learning process. The first half is learning how the spell works, and Levi taught us that the fastest way to learn how something works is to get hit with it a couple dozen times. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Sounds rough,” Eren says. 

“Sometimes.” Jean runs his fingers down the cover of his spellbook, then glances at them furtively, a light flush warming his cheeks. He shakes off his hesitation quickly, though, and flips the book open to the page marked by the ribbon.

At first glance, it seems blank.

As Marco looks at it, though, he can see a faint glimmer on the parchment, barely perceptible traces of curved lines and words down the page. He squints and leans closer, but when Jean flinches slightly, his hands gripping the book, Marco backs off with a muttered apology. 

Jean waves him off quickly, looking flustered. “It’s nothing.” He huffs a breath, gathering himself again, then tilts the page toward the light. “For wizards, learning spells is a ritual. We pick it apart and figure out how it works, and once we’ve gotten the hang of it, we write it down in enchanted ink to seal it. It’s a pretty involved process.”

“And that?” Eren asks, jerking his chin toward the page. 

“That’s the hands-on part. It’ll get a little clearer and neater as I get more familiar. Just part of my connection to my spellbook.” 

“That’s... pretty cool, actually,” Marco admits, rubbing a finger under his nose. He knows he’s exposing himself as a huge magic nerd, but it’s nothing Eren and Jean both don’t know already. “I never knew.”

“Wizards are pretty secretive about it, for obvious reasons.” Jean closes his spellbook and rests his arms over it, casually protective. “We don’t, uh. Really show people these things.”

As Jean realizes what he’s saying, his face flushes, but before he can start babbling, Historia trots down the stairs again holding what looks like a straw target dummy. “Sorry, I completely forgot where I’d put this thing, it’s been so long since I’ve had students—” She comes to a stop when she sees Jean, blinking wide blue eyes at him. “Is that your spellbook?”

Jean grows even more flustered at that, his ears burning bright red. “Whatever,” he spits, standing quickly and stomping across the room to his cloak, where he hides his spellbook again before crossing his arms tightly. “Can we get on with it?”

Historia rolls her eyes. “Touchy, touchy.” She shakes it off, though, and instead puts her straw dummy down roughly where she’d been standing during their session earlier. “Alright Jean, let’s see it.” 

He blinks at her, then at the dummy, his irritation giving way to visible nervousness. “Uh.”

“It’s fireproof.” Historia grins at him, patting the dummy fondly. “Most of my house is, in fact, so go ahead and go nuts.”

It takes Jean a moment to register what she’d said, but when he does, he squints quizzically at her. “Why, exactly?”

She shrugs. “That’s for me to know and for you to not worry about.” 

Jean just grumbles, moving to his position across from the dummy. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then focuses entirely on his target, his expression determined. 

“Stay focused,” Historia says softly, taking a few steps away from the dummy toward her desk. “You just have to stay in control. I know it’s hard.”

Rather than respond, Jean grits his teeth, his brow furrowing slightly. He clenches his fists, and once again, those sparks manifest between his fingers. They shudder out between his lips, too, but before he can cast the spell, Historia interrupts him.

“_Control,_ Jean. Find the Weave. I know you can, I’ve seen you do it before. Stop being so afraid of it.” 

Where before, Levi’s brash orders had worked to soothe him, this time Jean just gets frustrated. He grinds his teeth harder, snorting a brief wave of sparks, and when he whips his arm through the air, nothing comes out but a wide, bright arc of flames. It flares out and dies quickly, leaving the still air around him crackling with unrestrained power. 

Surprisingly, Historia has nothing to say about Jean’s outburst. She just leans her hip against her desk and crosses her arms, patiently waiting for Jean to quit steaming. He buries his face in his hands and groans, mumbling an apology that she’s quick to wave off. 

“I’m no stranger to your temper. Just remember that I’m trying to help.” 

Jean just groans again, scrubbing his face. As he takes deep, steadying breaths, the magic fades around him, somehow leaving him looking smaller than ever. 

“It’s normal, you know,” Historia soothes. “Not all magic resonates with everyone. If a spell doesn’t resonate with you, it becomes so much harder to even cast, let alone master.”

He sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “It just—it doesn’t feel like _me._” 

“I know the feeling.” She smiles and moves to stand beside him, resting a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re a talented mage, Jean. You always have been. But when your talent is so specific, having to deal with things you’re not good at is even more frustrating. It’s normal to fall back on the things that feel natural to you.”

Marco blinks at her, then sucks on his lips, his gaze falling to his and Eren’s twined fingers. He wonders then what happens when you have nothing to fall back on. 

Ever attentive, Eren laces their fingers more tightly and brings Marco’s knuckles to his lips, brushing a soft, soothing kiss over them. He glances at Marco out of the corner of his eye with a small smile, at which Marco can’t help but relax a little.

With a long, steady breath, Jean glances over at them, then purses his lips thoughtfully. Before Marco can ask, or do more than tilt his head curiously, Jean crosses the room to one of Historia’s many bookshelves. He drags his finger along the spines of the books on one of the higher shelves, then pulls one out and strides right over to Marco. 

“Here,” he mumbles, holding the book out. It doesn’t look terribly old, but the faint gold filigree decorating the cover is definitely worn in places. Marco takes the book and glances at the title etched down the spine, something about attunement of magical relics, then looks back up at Jean, who just shrugs. “You’re gonna get bored, I promise. Figured I’d offer you a distraction.”

“Oh,” Marco murmurs. “Thank you, Jean.”

The wizard nods curtly, then turns and moves back to his position, already setting up to cast again. He looks determined, if nothing else, but him offering Marco a distraction says a lot about his confidence. (Namely, that he isn’t.)

\--

It’s hard to tell with how dark the stormy sky is, but dusk has long since come and gone by the time Ymir returns. She comes in with a heavy-looking sack, staring at where Jean is somehow still standing, although near drenched with sweat, glaring daggers at the training dummy, then to where Marco’s halfway through the book Jean had handed him, his fingers threading through Eren’s hair where the man’s head is resting on his thigh. 

She looks up at Historia last, looking as composed as she had when they first arrived. “It’s long after hours, love,” Ymir says, her tone near scolding. 

Historia has the good grace to look bashful. “Oh, is it? I must’ve lost track of time again.” 

Ymir huffs, but the crooked smile on her face gives her away. She comes to brush her lips against Historia’s cheek, then stalks off into the house, presumably to start on the dinner she’d mentioned. Historia smiles after her briefly before blinking back up at Jean. 

“Well, Jean—”

“One more,” he blurts, turning pleading eyes on her. “Please, I’m so close, I can feel it.”

She laughs softly, but waves her hand. “Go on, then.”

Jean nods vaguely, turning back to the dummy. 

It’s true that he’d made progress; Gust is a simple enough cantrip, but his is still a little more on the hot side than he’d like. At this point, Marco’s just kind of surprised Jean hasn’t fallen over. His stubbornness is apparently the stuff of legends, not that that’s terribly surprising.

Jean shakes his hands out and squares his feet, that keen focus returning to his tired eyes. He exhales slowly, then speaks the words as his hand slices through the still air, and this time, the wind that cuts through the room is perfectly room temperature. Even better, it knocks the training dummy around, and as it wobbles, then collapses with a loud clatter, Jean throws his hands in the air with a triumphant yell.

“Nice, Jean!” Historia bounces in place, clapping her hands together, the grin on her face genuinely joyous. He turns to beam at her in return, dragging a hand through his hair, seemingly unconcerned for the way his bangs are starting to stand on end. 

“It could still use work,” Jean says, “But I’m close.”

“Oh, please,” she huffs in return. “It’s more than good enough for one day. Better than most might manage, anyway.”

“It’s a _cantrip._” 

“Yes, and?” She puts her hands on her hips, her expression stubborn. “Even simple things can be hard to learn, Jean. You know that as well as I do.” Jean rubs the back of his neck and mumbles something Marco doesn’t catch, and that Historia doesn’t respond to. Instead, as she tidies up her desk, she asks, “Are you staying nearby? There’s an inn a few corners down, they’re reasonably priced.” 

“Oh, uh.”

She turns a stern eye on him. “You weren’t seriously going to go back home tonight, were you? Your portal is clever, sure, but I know what it takes out of you.” 

Jean outright sulks at that, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and staring pointedly at a wall, but he apparently lacks the energy to fight back. 

Clearing his throat, Marco gently sets the book on Eren’s flat stomach and leans forward slightly. “I brought some coin, Jean. I’m sure I can cover it.” 

The wizard stares at him, his brow knitted. “You don’t have to—”

“Shuddup,” Eren mumbles, still mostly asleep from Marco’s extended petting. 

Jean snorts at that, but he can’t really argue his way out of it, not with three people on the side of staying in the city for the night. “Fine,” he says finally. “But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

“It’ll be fine,” Historia soothes. “Actually, Ymir’s been working on something for you—”

“My own wife, spoiling my surprises?” Ymir calls from upstairs. 

“You’ve been sitting on it for years, Ymir!”

“Some things take time, beloved,” she replies as she strolls down the stairs, her hands resting casually in the pockets of her trousers. “Especially side projects of side projects.” Historia huffs, but Ymir just winks at her, then crosses to Jean, pulls something out of her pocket, and holds it out to him. He looks at her hand warily, but holds his out, letting her drop what looks like some kind of amulet into his palm. 

He investigates it, but before he can make much headway, his exhaustion makes itself apparent. He shakes his head and drops it in his pocket, mumbling his thanks before turning back to Historia. “Same time tomorrow, then?”

She shakes her head. “Earlier. We’re gonna dig into the meat of it tomorrow, so make sure you rest well, and then rest some more.” She jerks her chin toward his pocket. “That should help.”

Jean sighs. “Well, can I borrow some ink, then? I’ll pay you back. I was just, you know, expecting to go home tonight.” 

With a snort, Historia shakes her head, but opens one of her desk drawers and digs around until she finds a small, dark inkwell and a simple fountain pen. She hands them both to him, and as he’s finding safe pockets in his cloak to store them, Historia aims her wide smile at Marco. “You can borrow that too, Marco. You seemed much more interested in it than I ever was.”

Marco sits up straight, blinking widely at her. “Oh, thank you! I’ll return it tomorrow.”

She shrugs, then turns to her wife. “Do you need help with dinner?”

“Yeah, with eating it.” Ymir laces her fingers over the back of her neck and starts wandering back up the stairs, and as she goes, she says, “It’s weird, I did the same thing I usually do, but for some reason there’s enough food for like five people. I’m gonna need a lot of help finishing it all off.”

Historia stares after her, then covers a cute giggle with her hand. She turns to her guests then, gesturing toward the stairs. “Well, you heard her. I hope you three are hungry.” 

\--

After dinner, Eren, Marco, and Jean collect their things, patting their many pockets to make sure they have everything before they head back out into the rain. The inn isn’t far, as promised, but when they draw close, it becomes quickly apparent that it’s a popular spot in this part of the city, based on the din coming from inside.

Jean stares at the establishment with a grimace, then turns to Eren and Marco. “Is this all right with you? We can still—”

“It’s fine,” Eren and Marco say simultaneously. Eren looks nervous, though, and Marco can understand why; Eren’s so used to skulking around, climbing trees and stables to sneak into their rooms through the windows, and his discomfort at the idea of walking right into a packed tavern is readily apparent. 

Jean purses his lips, but doesn’t argue further, choosing instead to lead the way inside.

Turns out, Eren and Marco are far from the freakiest patrons of this place. There’s a small pod of very literal necromancers in one corner, made obvious by their bone-white hair and eyes, if not by the enormous skeletal dog curled up by their feet. There are tieflings and dwarves laughing with halflings and elves by the bar, along with some adventurers lurking dramatically in the wavering shadows, their expressions all but begging for someone to start some trouble. 

Rather than stop to stare, Jean makes a beeline for the bar, and Marco and Eren keep close behind. 

He wriggles his way to the counter and knocks on it with sharp knuckles to get the attention of the pretty innkeeper. Between her impressive height, the jade color of her skin, and the cute tusks jutting up from between her lips, she could only be a half-orc. She grins at Jean, setting down an unnervingly large tankard of beer in front of another patron, and calls, “You look like a drowned rat. Need a drink?”

Jean blinks at her forwardness, but shakes it off with only a little grumpiness. “No thank you, just two rooms.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, friend. We’ve only got one open right now.” 

Marco can _see_ the irritated twitch of Jean’s pointed ear. To his credit, though, he keeps calm and nods. “Are there any other inns nearby with vacancy?” 

The innkeeper makes a thoughtful face at that, stroking her chin. “Nearby, no. If you’re desperate, you could head west to Blacklake, but it’s already way later than you’d ever want to be wandering those streets.” 

Jean groans and runs a hand down his face. “Does your one room have two beds?” The innkeeper gives him a crooked grin, but shakes her head, at which Jean groans again. “Of fucking course not.”

Before he can turn and try to talk them into going home after all, Eren budges between Jean and a towering drow and firmly says, “We’ll take it,” already sliding her a few silver coins. She nods and hands him a heavy iron key, sweeping his coin into her apron pocket. 

“Up the stairs, last door on the right.”

Eren nods his thanks, then turns and bolts straight for the stairs, clearly ready to be away from so many noisy humanoids. Jean and Marco head after him, careful not to lose each other or Eren in the din.

Once the door closes behind them, it turns out to be surprisingly quiet. Marco can feel the low, subtle vibrations of some kind of aura, likely an enchantment to keep the noise downstairs out, which is a relief. The room is small, though, the bed, two chairs, and a tiny table packed tight together under the narrow window. 

“You two take the bed,” Jean grumbles, already moving to hang his cloak over one of the chairs, staking his claim on it. 

“Are you sure?” Marco hangs his coat on a hook, then turns to look Jean over. “Don’t you need rest?”

Jean raises an eyebrow at him, then points at himself and huffs, “Elf. No sleep.”

It’s not like Marco can really argue with that, but he still crosses his arms, trying to think of some way to get Jean to just relax. The wizard settles in at the table, pulling the amulet Ymir had given him out of his pocket and setting it aside. He pulls his spellbook out next, then the pen and ink, and without further ado, flips to the page he’d showed them earlier and gets to work inscribing the spell he’d worked so hard to learn. 

As much as Marco wants to watch, he figures he probably shouldn’t, if wizards are all so private about their spellbooks. Fortunately, Eren tugs on his sleeve, catching his attention. 

He turns to his companion, who looks positively wrung out. Marco hums sympathetically and turns to face him, resting their foreheads together, which is a small enough gesture, but already puts a dent in Eren’s simmering tension. Eren sighs, nudging their noses together, then mumbles, “Can you help me?”

Marco smiles and nods, briefly brushing his lips against Eren’s. He reaches up and drags his short nails behind Eren’s ears then, and as those bright eyes shutter closed, Marco starts whispering to him, the one spell he knows by heart, the only one that comes to him easy as breathing. As he speaks, he can feel Eren calming down, getting himself under control again, gradually becoming more and more comfortable in the relative quiet. 

The first time Marco had done this in front of Jean, he’d forgotten that it affects others around him. Jean had snapped at him then, still drenched and smoldering and scared. This time, if Jean notices at all, he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to focus on his spellbook.

(If Marco turned to look, he’d notice the tension slipping away from Jean’s shoulders. He might even notice the way the wizard resists for a moment, then gives in and lets the spell wash over him.) 

As he finishes the spell, Marco drags his warm fingers along the nape of Eren’s neck, then leans away to look him over. Eren looks about at ease as he possibly could after the day they’d had, which is a win in Marco’s book. 

Eren hums his thanks, running his hands down Marco’s sides. Then, apparently irreverent for Jean’s process, he crosses the room and pokes at the amulet resting on the table. 

“So what’s this for?”

Jean huffs, briefly glancing up at him through his eyelashes. “I don’t know yet. I don’t have the materials to find out, either.” 

“She couldn’t just tell you?”

The wizard shrugs and leans closer to the diagram he’s finishing up. “That’s not how Ymir does things. She’s... dramatic.”

Eren snorts at that, but it’s not like he can argue. She’d certainly proven that much herself already. He runs his thumb along the thin leather strand, down to the dark metal casing holding a small, rough crystal. It’s a faint orange color, its surface scratched and worn, but despite its drab appearance, the crystal easily catches Marco’s attention.

He crosses to stand next to Eren, tilting his head to look at the amulet. Jean glances up at him, but otherwise seems undisturbed, intent on finishing his inscription. 

“What does Identify cost again?” Marco asks, mostly to distract himself from the growing urge to touch the crystal.

Jean hums, scratching his chin with the rounded end of the pen. “An owl feather and, uh... a pearl? I think?”

“I don’t have either of those, I don’t think,” Marco murmurs. 

“Yeah, I don’t either.”

Marco bites his lip, still staring at the amulet, and after a moment of silence, his self-control gives way. 

He reaches out and delicately runs the pads of his fingers down the crystal. It’s warm, he finds, its surface alive and nearly tingling from the enchantment Ymir must have infused into it. It feels like it’s pulling something in, too, the flow of its energy a slow spiral toward the inner center of the crystal. 

Marco’s brow furrows and, unaware of the way Jean and Eren are both looking at him now, he picks up the amulet and rests it in the palm of his hand, staring at it more intently. 

After spending a moment just feeling the pull of the crystal, Marco turns it over and drags his thumb down the inscription carved into the flat surface of it. It’s in Infernal, but these characters aren’t familiar to him, which just makes him even more curious. He traces them a few times, his focus narrowing, and on the third or fourth round, an image bursts unbidden into his mind.

The inscription feels like roaring flames, explosive combustion fueled entirely by rage and sadness and fear, and the heat of it is so sudden, so real that Marco’s breath stutters. 

His hand twitches, and the image vanishes, its heat simmering and dying in its wake. The whole time, the crystal’s energy just serenely swirls, endlessly hungry for the exact heat that had overcome Marco so suddenly. 

“Absorb Elements,” he blurts, entirely unsure where the words are coming from. “It doesn’t have charges. It’s just set to react to a specific elemental input.” He shakes his head and blinks up at Jean, then over at Eren. Jean looks surprised, his eyebrows near disappearing into his bangs, but Eren’s just looking him over thoughtfully, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Marco swallows, then holds the amulet out again, his hand trembling. “I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what just happened.”

“You cast Identify,” Eren says simply. “For free.”

Marco swallows, then bleats a nervous laugh. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure.”

“No, that’s definitely what just happened,” Jean mumbles. He squints at Marco as he takes the amulet from him. “And what you said makes sense. Ymir’s been working on something to help with my... control issues. For a while. I thought she’d forgotten about it, honestly.” Jean rubs his finger over the inscription, then stares back up at Marco. “You know clerics can’t even learn Identify, right? They just wait for their god to tell them what’s up.”

For lack of a better response, Marco just laughs again, anxiously rubbing his nose. “It’s probably just, um. A feature. Right?”

“Magical items don’t usually come with manuals,” Eren says quietly. Jean points at Eren, confirming what he’d said, but his eyes don’t leave Marco.

Growing flustered, Marco just shrugs, then stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Well, I don’t know what else to tell you two. I don’t know Identify.”

Jean quirks an eyebrow at Marco, pointedly letting the crystal dangle from his fingers. He doesn’t push it, though, choosing instead to dip his pen into the inkwell and get back to what he was doing. 

Swallowing down his growing unease, Marco clears his throat, then moves to his cloak. He retrieves the book he’d borrowed from Historia and sits heavily on the bed, burying his face in it, and thankfully Eren and Jean both seem to get the hint. Eren digs around in one of his bags and pulls out his weapons kit, then settles himself at the foot of the bed and gets to work cleaning and maintaining his many sharp objects. 

They sit quietly for a while, the only sounds the scratch of quill on parchment. Marco had fully intended to read his book, but the words are swimming across the page before him, his focus shifting like sand until the letters drift into that same slow swirl he’d seen in the crystal. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, but even that doesn’t help. 

At the table, Jean leans back in his chair with a sigh, putting the stopper in the inkpot and laying his spellbook out to dry. He drags a hand through his short hair, then shifts his weight and folds his feet up under himself, sitting cross-legged in the chair. 

“I’m gonna rest for a bit,” he says, barely sparing them a glance. “You two can take the bed.”

Eren turns to face him, eyebrows raised. “You planning on sleeping in that chair?”

Jean huffs slightly. “Most elves don’t even have beds, you know. And if they do, they’re mainly for, um.” He pauses to clear his throat awkwardly. “Decoration.” Waving that thought off, Jean continues, “I like to be comfortable while I rest, but it’s not necessary.”

“If you say so,” Eren grumbles, already standing and moving to put his tools and weapons away. He glances back at Marco, gesturing to the lamp, and Marco would be lying if he said he’d made any progress on his book in the last hour. 

Instead, he closes it and sets it aside, slinking down into the sheets, at which Eren gives him a brief smile before snuffing the lamp out.

As the shadows settle and night vision kicks in, Marco watches as Eren shucks his shirt and his belts, then crawls across the bed toward him. Once he’s close enough, Marco tugs him in for a soft, sweet kiss, searching more for comfort than anything else. Thankfully, Eren’s happy to oblige, gently running his thumb along Marco’s cheek as they kiss. 

Before he forgets where he is, Marco pulls back and smiles, then wrestles his own shirt off over his antlers. He lets Eren help him when a loop on the sleeve gets caught around one of his prongs, mumbling his gratitude as the shirt gets tossed aside.

Once Marco’s settled comfortably, Eren tugs the blankets up over them, then takes up his usual position wrapped around Marco’s side. 

For a while, Marco stares up at the dark ceiling, trying to get his thoughts to quiet down. He does his best not to fidget, either, but knowing him, it probably doesn’t work terribly well. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Eren breathes, startling Marco out of his swirling thoughts. He glances over at him, meeting those brightly glowing eyes in the gloom with a sigh.

“Don’t know what I’d say,” he replies finally. “Just... confused.” Eren hums sympathetically, gently sliding his hand up and down Marco’s bare side. Marco closes his eyes and holds Eren closer, his teeth finding his lip. 

After a long, thoughtful silence, he finally murmurs, “I just... wish I knew what I am.”

Eren ponders that for a moment, nodding slowly. He doesn’t respond, though. He just lets them lie quietly, his warm, rough fingers tracing soothing patterns over Marco’s skin until the feeling lulls him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://avoidingavoidance.tumblr.com) (that i almost never use anymore) and a [twittr](http://twitter.com/gaarbage)


End file.
